


Wait For Me By Candlelight

by Kendrene



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Clarke bonds with the Nightbloods, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gun Violence, Jealous Lexa, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, canon divergent post 3.07, this is the end result of some ficlets on Tumblr, this turned into an involuntary fix-it fic. Would say sorry but I'm not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-08-14 02:41:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7995637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendrene/pseuds/Kendrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lexa is called away to stem unrest on Azgeda's border she leaves Clarke in charge as her representative back in Polis. Is Wanheda's power enough to make everyone fall in line?</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>Clarke is the one that gets shot and things go slightly differently in Polis from that moment onward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jude81](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jude81/gifts), [IllyriatheSmurf7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllyriatheSmurf7/gifts).



> This work is almost complete so updates will be frequent- I'd say once a week (Fridays) for a few weeks- I am not putting up a chapter count as I am still editing things and moving breaks around. 
> 
> Thanks to GillyTweed and Panda for giving me feedback!
> 
> As usual kudos and comments are welcome and treasured. This story was born on Tumblr from a couple of ficlets about candles and Clarke waiting for Lexa. People yelled at me for the angst, so I figured I'd have them yell at me some more. 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr @kendrene

The day was dark and the air carried the first chill of winter. Lexa had left their room more than an hour before, reports of unrest along the Ice Nation border tearing her away from Clarke’s arms. There always seemed to be unrest along the border, she thought with a bitter smirk. No matter how resolutely Lexa stomped down on it. 

She rolled on her side with a groan, burying deeper under the furs. She should get up and dress on the off chance Lexa needed her to join the meeting, but the cold made that thought less than enticing. Not all of the ambassadors accepted her, but they feared what  _ Wanheda  _ represented and she allowed Lexa to use that as leverage when needed. 

Clarke groaned, throwing the pelts off her body before she had time to reconsider. The cold slapped her bare skin, and she scrambled off the bed in a rush to add wood to the dying fire. Once lively flames filled the stone hearth again, she stepped back with a grunt of satisfaction. 

She padded to a nearby table and her eyebrows rose in surprise when she found that the water Lexa had left for her in the washbasin was covered by a thin film of ice. Perhaps she should arrange to visit Arkadia before winter made travel all but impossible, make sure they had enough supplies to manage without trouble. Her lips pressed into a thin line and she scowled. It wasn’t easy for her to go back there. Arkadia reminded her of all the lives she ended in order to save her people, but she knew her mother and her friends would be happy to see her. They always were and she even managed to fake the same for a while. But as the hours dragged on her smile would falter, until the itch to leave became unbearable. Her mother had given up convincing her to stay and after a few heated discussions she had accepted Clarke’s place was in Polis.

Clarke ran a hand through hair tousled by sleep and grimaced when her fingers got snagged in a few knots. She splashed her face and shivered at the contact with the cold water. Moving to the carved wardrobe she shared with Lexa, she picked out the warmest clothes in her possession. Her teeth were chattering despite the fire and she began to dress quickly, discarding the flimsy shirt and cotton pants she had slept in. Like every other  _ Skaikru _ , she wasn’t used to the cold yet and really didn’t want to get sick. 

As she pulled a heavier shirt over her head and tugged it down in place, her knuckles brushed the scar on her stomach. She froze for a moment, a wave of nausea making the room tilt around her, then took a few shallow breaths to calm herself.

Actually Clarke didn’t remember much of what had happened. Titus brandishing a gun, bullets whizzing around the room as she ducked and tried to run. After that everything became laced with pain, foggy and distant. She had tried to figure out the details, but her brain refused to help and when she had asked Lexa, the brunette’s eyes had filled with anguish. Clarke had dropped the subject, reassuring the Commander it was all right if she didn’t want to talk about it. 

Before she realized what she was doing, she had walked in front of the full mirror that stood in a corner of the room. Her reflection frowned back at her as she examined the healing wound. The circular scar was still an angry red, but the bruising around it was almost gone, leaving behind an ugly shade of yellow. Clarke knew that in a few years it would not be more than a raised, warped patch of skin but her limbs felt heavy for a moment. She struggled to dispel the feeling that she was looking at someone else’s body. Her throat went dry and she swallowed hard, turning away abruptly.

Sweat sheened her forehead and she clenched her jaw concentrating on small actions. A soft woolen sweater went over the shirt, a shade of blue slightly darker than her eyes. It was followed by black pants and leather boots that laced up to mid-calf. It didn’t help. Sweat plastered the fresh shirt to her back and her hands kept shaking, little tremors that made her fingers clumsy and slow. 

Clarke walked briskly to the hearth, stoked a fire that didn’t need it and busied herself with making tea. Lexa ground the leaves herself, and always kept a well stocked supply at hand. The blonde filled the kettle and carefully set it on a hook over the fire. She walked restlessly around the room as she waited for it to whistle. She realized she was panting slightly and she moved to the window, fighting to slow the mad thumping inside her chest. 

A curtain of rain plunged the city below into a hazy dream. Her eyes roamed the blurred landscape in search of a distraction and when the loud sound of whistling steam filled the room behind her, she jumped letting out something between a whine and a startled yelp.

There was a discreet knock at the door and she whipped around, just as it creaked open.

“ _ Wanheda? _ ” the leader of her personal guard half pushed inside the room, a worried frown on his face. Not that Angus ever sported another expression, she thought wrily as their eyes met. 

“Everything is alright,” she soothed, struggling to keep her voice even. He grunted, evidently not satisfied with her reply and stalked forward, hard eyes darting around Heda’s living quarters. 

“I am sure there aren’t any assassins under the bed.” Clarke couldn’t hold back a laugh, comforted by his presence. 

Angus halted his search to glare at her, tapping the hilt of his sword. Slowly he went to the bed and grabbed the mattress. Lifting it slightly, he made a show of looking under it.

“One can never be too sure.” Who knew, the man had a sense of humor. Angus flashed her a rare smile, and suddenly the heaviness that had haunted her since she had gotten out of bed melted away. Clarke poured a cup of tea and offered it to him, but he declined with a shake of his head. Yet he lingered and she was grateful. At first, when Lexa had appointed him as captain of Clarke’s personal guard, he had intimidated her. He was as big as Lincoln, but seemed to lack the younger warrior’s compassion. Perhaps Clarke thought, he had seen too much death and his kindness was so buried inside him it was not visible. At times she wondered if she shouldn’t follow his example. Maybe if she built higher walls, guilt would stop haunting her. 

He cleared his throat and Clarke realized she had been staring. She took a sip of tea, hoping she could hide the blush that splashed across her cheeks. 

“What do you make of the scouts’ reports?” she asked, breaking the silence before it became too awkward. 

“If a man has trouble keeping his warriors in line he shouldn’t call himself king.” His jaw worked and he eyed the floor, seemingly on the verge of spitting on it in disgust, then he must have remembered whose room it was because he swallowed. 

Clarke shook her head at his words. She was so tired of the senseless violence. After Lexa had killed Nia and proclaimed Roan  _ Haihefa _ , they had hoped peace would finally be possible. Ontari had thought differently, defying her king’s orders and gathering those of the Azgeda warriors that wanted revenge for his mother’s death. At least the  _ Skaikru  _ leaders had shown more sense, she mused as her mouth soured. 

Before she could reply, the door banged open and Lexa strode inside. Her green eyes went from Angus to Clarke questioningly and the warrior shrugged, inclining his head respectfully before leaving them alone. 

“I’m fine,” Clarke forestalled. 

Lexa shot her a piercing look, but didn’t press her further. Clarke was still brittle, but she guessed it was to be expected after what the girl had been through. Lexa had come to terms with her own death since before she became  _ Heda _ . She knew it would come violently and had made her peace with that fact as any warrior did. For the  _ Skaikru  _ it was different. Earth had presented them with a reality they were still struggling to accept. 

The Commander unclasped her sash from the armor’s shoulder guard and folded it, dropping it on a nearby chair. Then she walked to the bed and sat down with a sigh. She pressed slender fingers to the side of her head, rubbing small circles against a sore spot on her temple. She willed the headache away, but it had gained a hold already and pressure built behind her eyes. She snarled, frustrated that her people chose war whenever they had a chance at peace. 

“How bad is it?” Lexa raised her eyes at Clarke’s gentle question and the blonde handed her a cup of tea. She took it carefully and smiled when their fingers brushed. She lifted it to her nose and sniffed at the steam rising off the mug. Her muscles relaxed slightly and the throbbing inside her skull abated. She took a grateful sip, burning her tongue.

“Bad enough,” she answered, as Clarke sat down beside her. 

Their shoulders touched, then the blonde leaned into her and Lexa closed her eyes, snaking her free arm around her lover’s waist. She turned her head, nuzzling into Clarke’s neck. Her scent filled Lexa’s nose and she inhaled greedily. The blonde’s body pressing against her own felt like home and she had to leave it. She stiffened at the thought.

Clarke pulled back slowly, blue eyes serious. Lexa’s muscles had tensed and she feared the reason behind the rigidity in her back.

“When do you go?” The words caught in her throat.

Lexa’s downcast gaze was all the answer she needed. 

Clarke set her cup down on the night table and pressed her fingers under her lover’s chin, forcing her to meet her eyes.

“How long?” 

The Commander shrugged. “Two weeks?” She sighed dejectedly, clearly unwilling to leave, “perhaps more.” 

Clarke was afraid, but she pushed all her other questions away. Lexa had a duty to her people and if she had to leave the blonde would make the most of the few moments they still had together. She leaned forward, capturing the Commander’s lips with her own and she felt her lover lean into the kiss after a moment’s hesitation. It was hungry and a bit sloppy, almost desperate.

“Come back to me.” She breathed against Lexa’s mouth.

“Always.” Then their time was over and Clarke could only watch helplessly as Lexa gathered her gear and filled a satchel with supplies. When it was time to secure the sash to her armor again, Clarke stood and took it out of Lexa’s hands, fixing it to the pauldron with practiced fingers. 

Lexa walked to the door silently and pushed it open, then she halted on the threshold casting one last look over her shoulder. She drank Clarke in with hooded eyes, etching every detail into her mind. 

“ _ Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim, Klark. _ ” [may we meet again] she murmured.

The feeling of Clarke’s lips on hers kept her warm all the way north.

* * *

The first few days were easy for Clarke or as easy as life in Polis ever got. Cold weather settled in, drenching the city and its people in freezing rain. As usual Lexa had left orders behind and the Commander’s advisors turned to Clarke for advice as they ran their day-to-day tasks.

More and more people started getting sick, and the young healer knew it would only get worse when the first snows came. So she spent long hours in the infirmary, helping Nyko and the other healers grind dried herbs into powders to be packaged and sent out to the herbalists in the outer villages. The constant chill in the air made her bones ache and the healing wound in her stomach twinged after a long day, but she pushed forward relentlessly. Keeping occupied kept her worried mind busy and, as she had predicted, they found themselves swarmed with patients soon enough, as well as the occasional injured worker.

On top of that she and the other advisors organized a shipment of furs and other supplies to Arkadia. Clarke saw it off personally even if she could not go herself, standing in the empty courtyard as rain pelted her head. She was always surprised when they agreed to her suggestions and vividly remembered the first time Lexa had left her in charge. She had been terrified of screwing up, desperate to gain the approval of people that still looked at  _ Skaikru  _ as invaders, despite the peace. 

In time most of them had warmed to her, and the few that hadn’t were usually from clans that had been hostile to  _ Trikru  _ long before Clarke and her people came to the ground.

Soon enough her work with the healers stopped being a distraction and she found herself aimlessly wandering the halls, the loneliness of Heda’s rooms too much to bear for long. Angus trailed her everywhere like her personal thunderstorm and her bleak mood worsened. 

They were walking side by side towards the throne room, others of her guard trailing a few respectful steps behind, when she heard muffled voices coming from inside the double doors. She frowned confused, then anger simmered in her gut. There were no meetings scheduled for the evening, and if the Sand Clan ambassador was trying to blindside her again she would…

She quickened her pace, stalking up to the doors and throwing them open as her guards scrambled to keep up. She was not prepared for what she found. 

The Nightbloods were sitting in a tight semicircle at the foot of Lexa’s throne, talking quietly. They turned hurriedly as the doors crashed open behind them, and the way the younger ones huddled together at her sight, reminded Clarke of little ducklings bereft of their mother. 

She realized she was wearing a scowl and hastily smoothed her features before hurrying inside. When she heard Angus follow, she gave a tiny shake of the head and the man immediately dropped back, dragging the doors closed behind him.

Aden stood and met her halfway to the throne. He held his chin much like Lexa did, yet there was a hesitant look in his eyes and a slight blush creeped on his cheeks. 

“We weren’t doing anything,” he began, but stopped when Clarke reached out, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“I know,” her voice was quiet, “you miss her too.” 

The boy lowered his eyes, chewing on his lower lip for a moment. Clarke realized the children didn’t quite know what to do with themselves. She had seen them sparring in the courtyard regularly as she glanced out of the window on her way to the infirmary, and had not thought much of it until now. But their training extended beyond learning to fight and now that Lexa was away and Titus had been thrown in prison there was nobody to teach them. 

Clarke motioned him back to the others and she lowered herself to the floor, sitting cross-legged among them. 

There was a moment of embarrassed silence. Clarke had never interacted much with kids except when they were sick and she didn’t know what to do exactly. It was one of them who broke the stalemate. 

A girl no more than five years old, resolutely crawled to her and climbed onto her lap, clearly satisfied that she had been the first to come up with that idea. 

“Tell us a story,  _ Skaiprisa _ !” she gave Clarke a wide eyed, pleading look that the girl found impossible to resist. She wondered briefly if they acted so forward with Lexa. 

Aden cleared his throat and scolded the younger child gently, but firmly. “Be respectful. You are talking to  _ Wanheda _ .”

Clarke had to hide a grimace at the title they insisted pegging on her. She didn’t think she would ever get used to what it meant. 

“When we’re alone you can call me Clarke.” She knew the power behind her title was what kept her safe from harm after a fashion. Aden nodded solemnly and the others did the same after taking one look at him. It was obvious they took their lead from the oldest boy. 

“Would you…” he hesitated, struggling not to look too eager, “would you tell us about the stars?” 

His question opened the floodgates and all of the children chimed in, asking a million different things about  _ Skaikru.  _ Clarke debunked as many rumors as she could, and some of the notions the children came up with had her laugh out loud. They joined in merrily and the throne room echoed with a sound it rarely heard. 

“How do the stars look from behind, Clarke?”  The little girl on her lap, snuggled happily against her, voice full of wonder, “are they hot when you touch them?” Her dark eyes were shining with curiosity.

Clarke ruffled her hair with a small smile. “They burn like the biggest bonfire you can imagine, but you can’t actually touch them. They’re very far.”

“ _ Oh. _ ” The child looked a bit crestfallen. 

“So you can’t go behind them?” An older boy asked. 

If Raven was here, she’d pull out some big words and woo the children with stories of starships and warp jumps. Clarke only knew how to fall to Earth and nothing about travelling to other galaxies. 

“I guess,” she shrugged apologetically to her disappointed audience, “but if you looke at them long enough they throb you know?” 

Aden leant forward, interested. “Like a heart?”

She nodded and he gave her a smile she felt compelled to share. 

“We’re not supposed to talk about them but...my father used to say the stars were the spirits of our loved ones, waiting to fall back to earth.” Sadness crossed his features as he mentioned his family.

“Are you a spirit Clarke?” The little girl poked a finger between the blonde’s ribs and she groaned.

“I…” she didn’t quite know how to reply.

“ _ Sonraun nodotaim-de. _ ” [life again] Aden’s voice was the softest murmur, only meant for Clarke. She knew the Grounders believed in reincarnation and, while in the beginning she had shaken her head and wondered at that notion, now it comforted her to think that she and Lexa would never be truly apart. When his eyes tangled with hers, they held a wisdom beyond his years. Lexa was right she thought, he would be a fine leader one day. 

The weight of the girl’s head against her shoulder brought Clarke back to the throne room. The child had buried her face against her chest and was struggling to keep her eyes open.

“I believe it’s time for bed,” she announced, cradling the girl in her arms and standing up. The sky outside had darkened to pitch black, and the pinprick glows of torches far below looked like an earthly reflection of the hidden stars above. Aden followed her cue and rounded up the younger Natblida, ignoring their protests. 

“Will you tell us more stories tomorrow?” One of them asked, voice laced with hope. 

“Tomorrow I will teach you.” Clarke smiled at the groans that greeted her announcement. She knew exactly how she’d contribute to their training.

They exited the throne room in a shuffling line, much to the amusement of the guards, who escorted the group to the part of the tower assigned to the initiates. 

Clarke stepped inside their shared quarters, and Aden directed her to the girl’s bed. The room was a wide communal space, beds lined along one wall with small night tables between each cot. As she passed by, Clarke noticed the small desks were littered with things that would be of interest to a child: a piece of string, a strange feather, shells from a distant shore or some colorful rock. Each Natblida seemed to have gathered a small collection of curiosities and she thought perhaps they were not allowed many personal effects. She resolved to ask Lexa. Maybe she could persuade the Commander to allow art supplies into their living quarters. 

Clarke set the sleeping girl down carefully and, after having removed her shoes, tucked her securely under some blankets. As she turned to leave, Aden tugged at her sleeve. He pulled her to a corner of the room while the other initiates were clambering into bed, then he seemed to lose his nerve and looked everywhere but at her. 

“Aden,” Clarke drew his attention as gently as possible. She wanted to hug him, but she understood he was trying to be some sort of miniature Lexa. An example for the other Nightbloods while she was away.

He flinched when she spoke his name, then after one deep, shaky breath he managed to meet her eyes.

“I was wondering….” he faltered, swallowed hard then resumed, “would you come say good night everyday? For the little ones.” By the end of the question he was stammering slightly and pointedly looking at his boots.

Clarke wanted to kick herself. Of course that was what Lexa was doing every evening when she vanished for a time after their dinners. She had never asked, assuming the Commander needed some time alone after a busy day, but she should have known better. Clarke had been so caught up in her own worry, that she had been too distracted to see how others were affected by Lexa’s absence too. 

“Of course I’ll come,” she assured and Aden brightened visibly. She gently pushed him towards his own bed, and watched the kids get comfortable under the blankets. Soon the room fell quiet but she lingered, aware that the bed awaiting her tired body was empty and cold. 

When she finally trudged to Heda’s apartments and threw herself on their bed, she lay awake in the dark, unable to relax enough to sleep.

Wherever Lexa was, Clarke hoped she was dreaming of her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke teaches the Nightbloods, and Aden teaches her a few things in turn. Politics call for her attention, but despite keeping busy her thoughts veer again and again to absent Lexa.
> 
> When will the Commander be back in her arms?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, chapter 2 is edited and ready to go so you're getting it today. Hopefully you don't mind.
> 
> Thanks to GillyTweed for helping me figure out what Clarke could teach the Natblida. And as usual thanks to Panda for her support.
> 
> As usual I hold your kudos and comments dear- I love hearing your thoughts on what I write! 
> 
> Come yell at me on Tumblr @kendrene for the occasional angst.

The next day was the first without rain in almost a week. Braziers burned in every corridor to dispel the lingering chill and Clarke shivered as she made her way to the infirmary. It was early and the halls were mostly empty, but she wasn’t surprised to find Nyko already at work, checking a sleeping patient. She stayed long enough to ask that a table with supplies be set up in the throne room for her afternoon lesson, then headed down to the courtyard. Angus trailed her as usual, and as they rode the elevator down, she noticed his curious looks. As always he made a point not to ask. 

Outside their breath fogged in little white clouds, and freezing wind picked its way through Clarke’s layers of clothing making her teeth rattle. The sky was boiling with dark, menacing clouds and the blonde knew this was only the first taste of winter. The yard was still wet from a midnight drizzle and some men were scattering finely ground gravel mixed with salt to prevent ice from forming. Clarke hoped it would mean less broken limbs for her to fix.

The Nightbloods were already training, the older ones with live steel, while the youngest carried weapons with blunted edges. Clarke had expected them to use wooden ones, perhaps weighted, but she should have expected this. She knew from experience that Grounders were anything but soft. Following her gaze, Angus finally understood her intent. 

“You want to learn the sword with them?” He knew her proficiency with melee weapons was practically non-existent. Clarke nodded, then eyed him questioningly. “You disapprove?”

He shook his head. “I would teach you gladly.” 

She pointedly looked him up and down a few times and had to crane her neck to do so. He practically towered over her.

“I appreciate the offer, but you would break me.”

Angus snorted. “A broken bone never killed anyone.” He picked a blunted blade from a nearby rack and faked a thrust in her direction, a rare smirk playing along his lips.

Clarke raised her hands and took a step back.

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“As  _ Wanheda  _ wishes,” he grunted, before reversing his hold on the weapon and handing it to her. The clang of metal on metal had faltered and as she focused back on the Nightbloods, Clarke realized most of them had stopped practicing and were watching the scene curiously.  

She walked towards Aden and he hurried to meet her. 

“Will you train with us  _ Wanheda _ ?” His eyes shone with barely suppressed excitement. He was almost bouncing with it.

Clarke lightly tapped the flat of the blade against her thigh. “I was hoping you would teach me actually.” She may as well have told the boy the sky was falling on his head. He lost all composure and his eyes widened in surprise.

“But… you are  _ Wanheda _ ! You defeated the Mountain singlehandedly! The Commander told us…” Clarke grimaced at the mention of Mount Weather and he trailed off. 

Aden stuttered into silence as he saw  _ Wanheda _ ’s expression change, the small smile hovering at the corner of her lips turn into a frown. For a moment he thought he had offended her somehow, then he saw the great sadness that clouded her eyes. The usual sky blue of her irises slowly changed to the rainy grey of unshed tears and Aden watched her mask crack for an instant. 

He felt out of his depth. The Commander always appeared to be in control, distant even if with them she was almost never cold. Clarke…  _ Wanheda  _ was different. Her presence was as awe inspiring and commanding as Heda’s, but there was a wilder undercurrent, like she wasn’t used to it. Or maybe he thought,  _ Skaikru  _ were just different.

He mentally shrugged - the first time Heda had had to leave Polis, when the  _ Skaiprisa _ had still been hanging between life and death, he had promised the Commander he would take care of the blonde and he meant to stick to his word. He figured taking her mind off the things that hurt her would help. After a full day of training he never had the energy to think up dark thoughts, so they might as well try and see if it worked for her too.

He bowed formally and saluted with his sword. “I would be honored to teach you what I know,  _ Wanheda _ .” He saw her smile return and grinned happily.

Clarke smiled at Aden, grateful he had dropped the subject of the Mountain so swiftly. She had seen the questions pile up in his eyes and the confusion, but he had definitely learned more from Lexa than sword fighting and leadership. Clarke saw the gentleness beneath his quiet strength and she hoped he’d never lose it as the years and life scarred him. She felt she should offer an explanation.

“Our weapons are different.” she lowered her gaze to the damp flagstones for a moment. She had never been ashamed that her people carried guns, but after seeing what the Mountain had done to the Grounders, Clarke wished the Guard would have gotten rid of them and let the  _ Trikru _ warriors teach them their own way of fighting.

She didn’t blame the clans for being distrustful of people that were so similar to their oppressors.

Aden simply nodded his understanding then he started the lesson by showing her what he called the eight basic cuts and soon she was standing next to him as he called out the move’s corresponding number, trying to keep up as best as she could. The sword had not seemed that heavy when Angus had handed it to her, but now her shoulders burned and her neck grew stiff with the effort of not dropping it. Sweat gathered on her brow and more dripped down her back. She felt so hot she was tempted to shed her jacket. Her arms were shaking with each new swing of the sword and she found herself gasping for breath. 

After about ten minutes Angus signalled to Aden and the boy interrupted the lesson, sneaking her a concerned look she didn’t miss. 

“I think Wanheda needs a break,” the burly man called, trying to remain serious, “if she bursts a vessel you deal with Heda when she returns.  _ yongon _ .” 

Aden shuddered visibly at the idea of facing Lexa’s wrath and patted Clarke’s shoulder soothingly. 

“Don’t worry,” he said, “it was just as bad for all of us in the beginning.” Clarke’s throat felt rough like sandpaper and she barely managed to grunt and nod weakly. She used the practice sword like a stick and leaned on it, grinding the point into the flagstones. Sweat froze on her body as soon as she stopped moving and she shivered, hunching her shoulders to shield herself from the chill.

Just as the burning in her lungs was starting to disappear, her temporary crutch was kicked away from under her and Clarke had to whirl her arms desperately to keep her balance on the slippery stones. 

“This is a training yard not a hospice!” Angus hissed in her face, then he winked and added more gently, “walk it off. It’s better that way.”

She glared at him, but did as he suggested grumbling under her breath. He clearly chose to defer to her when it suited him. As she walked a slow lap around the yard, working the soreness out of her shoulders, Clarke wondered if Angus and the others of her guard resented being her babysitters. Following her around Polis or on her occasional visits to the  _ Trikru  _ and  _ Skaikru  _ territories must have been a dull thing for warriors used to find themselves in the thick of battle.

Clarke picked up her practice sword and rejoined Aden, nodding in his direction.

“I think we can go on.” 

The boy showed her the parries to counter each of the basic moves and called numbers out until she knew them by heart and her back was on fire. After another small break, and much teasing from Angus, they squared off to spar. Aden had exchanged sharp steel for a blunt sword similar to the one she gripped. Clarke’s cheeks reddened, even as she knew it was stupid to feel ashamed. It would be some time before she could use a real sword without cutting her hands off. 

Aden shuffled into position and she mimicked his stance as best as she was able. He touched the flat of her sword with his and told her to always keep the point aimed at his face. Angus agreed and muttered something about “keeping line”, but Clarke had barely time to hear the words as the Nightblood’s blade parted the air in a downward cut that would have opened her from shoulder to hip if they were really fighting.

She deflected awkwardly and the shock of metal on metal made her teeth ache. Aden attacked again and she found herself pushed back step by step until her parries were too weak and his sword got through, hitting her in the stomach hard enough that she doubled over with a pained “ _ oomph _ ”.

Tears stung her eyes and the world turned hazy, as she dropped the sword and wrapped her arms around her midriff. She gasped for air and coughed, dry heaving. 

“ _ Wanheda _ !” Aden’s voice was full of concern. 

Clarke managed to raise one hand and waved reassuringly. Her jacket was reinforced with metal inserts and it had absorbed most of the blow, but the flesh underneath was still new and tender. The wound itself had stopped being much of a problem when she moved around, but the direct blow pained her more than it normally would have.

She clenched her teeth and straightened her back with an effort. 

“You move the sword around too much,” Angus retrieved her fallen weapon and demonstrated with great slashing motions, “when you parry only your wrists move. You ain’t reaping wheat, girl.” 

He offered her the sword again and made her repeat the parries until he was satisfied. Then her bodyguard stepped away and she turned to face Aden again. 

They spent the morning like that and each time the sword was knocked from her grasp Clarke recovered it and urged the Nightblood to continue. She was exhausted, bruised and aching but resolve hardened inside her heart. She needed to learn, she wanted to learn so that in time she may be able to fight alongside Lexa or go in her stead and know her love safe behind Polis’ walls. 

Around noon the skies opened up again, a light rain that they could ignore in the beginning, then thunder boomed and a fork of lightning split the sky overhead. The rain increased abruptly, and they were forced to retreat inside the tower. The younger kids raced ahead, splashing into growing puddles. They laughed and shoved each other playfully and Clarke couldn’t hold back a fond smile. They hadn’t forgotten how to be carefree, even if they could not show it often. She and Angus hurried after the Nightbloods, but she found herself soaked through and trembling. A nasty wind had began to howl outside, making the rain that drenched her clothes and hair feel like a layer of hardening ice.

Clarke told the Nightbloods to meet her in the throne room in an hour, then hurried to Lexa’s apartments. She desired a bath but there wasn’t time, so she settled for changing into something dry and crowding close to the roaring fireplace as she wolfed down a bowl of stew. It was so hot the blonde burned her hands with the bowl and scalded her tongue with the first few bites, but she was too hungry to care. 

Clarke had invited Angus to join her and share the food, and to her surprise the usually stoic warrior had accepted. He ate standing, as if he expected an attack at any moment, eyes never resting on one place for long. The blonde took some time to study him carefully between bites. Even leaning casually as he was against the wall, he looked like a wolf, still but never really at ease. His face was all scars and hard angles, and the tattoo that ran from his left temple to his jawline did nothing to soften it. 

She shifted on her chair, trying to find a position that wouldn’t make her muscles hurt so badly, and grunted at the sting of the new bruises.

Angus put his bowl aside and walked to the door, opening it just long enough to talk to the guard outside. He came back holding a jar, as big as Clarke’s two fists together. He set it on the table next to her with a shrug. 

“What is it?” She balanced her food bowl on her lap and picked up the jar. It was heavy and she struggled to twist off its seal. She sniffed at it curiously. 

“A dandelion and sage poultice,” he offered a grin, “the way the boy thumped you around the yard  _ Wanheda _ , I figured you could use it so I got one of the boys to fetch it while you were training. It will be handy, especially if you intend to keep this up.”

Clarke chuckled drily. 

“You are just afraid the Commander will thump  _ you _ around when she sees the bruises.” Her smile waned slowly as the worry she had managed to forget during the morning chewed at her heart.

Angus’ picked up his food and resumed eating, speaking again around a mouthful of meat. 

“I wish she could see you,” his voice was softer, kind, “she will want to teach you herself once she finds out.”

Clarke toyed with her spoon, pushing the rest of her stew around the half-empty crock. 

“So you don’t think I am wasting time? Today was pitiful.” 

“You’re as green as they come,” he agreed and she lowered her eyes abashed, “but you picked up your weapon no matter how many times you were disarmed. We’ll make a competent warrior out of you yet.” As she was about to thank him for his words, he grinned and added, “at the very least you won’t cut your own foot off.”

She snorted, hearing the respect that hemmed his jibe, and could not help but strike with a playful retort of her own. “It looks like my title doesn’t frighten you anymore  _ ai gona _ ,” [my warrior].

“I don’t frighten easily,” Angus ripped a chunk off the loaf of bread that had been provided with their lunch, and set to clean his bowl, “besides someone needs to remind you that you’re still human,  _ Skaiprisa _ .”

Clarke put down her empty bowl with a sigh of contentment, full and finally warm again, and weighed his words in her mind. It was hard for her to accept the awed reactions that seemed to accompany her everywhere these days, especially knowing what her title meant to these people. She had begun to understand in a way, they respected strength and not much else and she had destroyed something that had shadowed their lives for long, dark years. They looked to her and saw a saviour, death in human form. She had exacted a price of blood for those that couldn’t, people that lost a father, a mother, children, lovers and friends to the insatiable hunger of the Mountain Men. Clarke had taken their law,  _ jus drein jus daun _ and made it her own. Still, she thought with a grimace, she didn’t have to like it and it felt good to have someone that treated her like she wasn’t an avatar of destruction. She was grateful for Angus’ words and his company. 

“You should hurry or you’ll be late, “ the warrior’s voice jerked her back to the task she had set for herself. She stood and motioned him to the door, “I will be with you in a few minutes.”

“ _ Sha, Wanheda _ .” He bowed, formality and respect firmly back in place, and leapt to obey. As he reached the door he paused, one hand on the handle.

“Thanks for the lunch.” 

The door clicked shut behind him, and Clarke stood slowly, carefully stretching her sore limbs. She eyed the jar of ointment with regret and sighed deeply. Her aches would have to wait a few more hours, but at least she would have something to tend to when she would be alone. 

She gathered a few things she would need during her lesson and met her guards outside. Together they walked to the throne room, much like they had done the day before. She crossed paths with the Boat and Broadleaf clans’ Ambassadors and both greeted her warmly. Their tribes were peaceful in nature, voted to trading and crafts rather than warfare, and they mostly shared Clarke’s views during councils. 

They had naturally aligned with  _ Skaikru  _ recognizing that along with Lexa’s own clan they were the ones that could offer more protection towards their more aggressive neighbors. Clarke had convinced her mother to take a few of the  _ Floukru _ fishermen in to help the Arkadians restock for winter, and in turn Raven and Wick had fitted a few rickety boats with salvaged engines. The Boat people could make quicker trips to the fishing fields that way and all clan had benefitted. Even though some had been more than unwilling to admit it, she thought with a flash of amusement. 

“May I help you Ambassadors?” she inquired politely after they had exchanged some pleasantries. 

Edric, the Broadleaf clansman nodded. “We are sorry to bother you  _ Wanheda _ , but with winter fast approaching we were wondering if it would be possible for our caravans to pass through  _ Skaikru _ land. It would save our traders many days of travel.” 

The Floukru Ambassador, a tall, reedy woman with a face tanned and roughened by the elements nodded enthusiastically, “the first snows won’t be long in coming. It would make things much faster.” 

Clarke agreed, but also knew she’d have to consult her mother first. Impossible as it was for her to do it herself, she’d have to send a rider. She told them as much and all but promised she would put her own weight behind their proposal. They agreed to discuss the matter further after the messenger had returned with Chancellor’s Abi reply. It would probably take two or three days, considering the bad weather.

Clarke caught Angus’ eye and he beckoned one of his men over. They young warrior listened to the message they wished delivered and repeated it word for word, before bowing and running off to gather his gear and commandeer a fast horse. 

“We appreciate your help,  _ Wanheda _ .” Edric bowed again.

“Don’t mention it,” she offered her hand and they clasped forearms firmly, “we’re stronger together.” 

He laughed and patted her shoulder, “well said! I wish some of our cousins could see the wisdom in that.” There was no need to mention which clans he was referring to. 

The  _ Floukru _ woman snorted, lips pulled back in a snarl, “they’ll want their own passage rights once they hear we’re negotiating.” Clarke knew she was right, the other clans would want to open their own caravan trails through her people’s territory - Arkadia would obviously benefit from more trade, and it also meant that the Grounders were slowly getting past their wariness. These were dangerous waters however, that Clarke needed to navigate carefully without appearing to favor one clan over the others. 

“I am sure the Chancellor will consider every offer equally,” she murmured noncommittally and Edric nodded his agreement. He had met her mother a few times and held her in high regard. It didn’t hurt, Clarke knew, that they were both healers. 

His companion opened her mouth for what would probably be a snide remark, but Edric touched her arm halting her. 

“I think we have stolen enough of  _ Wanheda’s _ time, Brigid,” he eyed the supplies Clarke was carrying and his smile widened, “if I am not mistaken she is on her way to impart a lesson.”

Clarke smiled back, “and running late at that.” 

“Then we will take our leave,” he replied firmly as he moved aside, dragging Brigid along, “I have learned not to stand in the way of the women in  _ Wanheda _ ’s family.” The last was directed at the Floukru Ambassador and a slight breach of etiquette, but as they moved away Clarke couldn’t hold back an amused chuckle. She remembered the first time Edric had come face to face with her mom and was sure the resulting shouting match had been heard all the way to the Northern Wastes. 

Then, when Edric had discovered Abby was a healer like himself, he had foregone hostilities and begun shamelessly courting her at every opportunity, much to Kane’s irritation and everyone else’s amusement. 

As they reached their destination, Angus pushed past her and held the throne room’s doors open for her as she struggled through, arms full of supplies. Her healer’s satchel was slung across her chest and she carried two rolled up sheepskins. She had drawn on those when she had started to work with Nyko, the Grounders’ medicine surprisingly advanced in certain fields and grievously lacking in others. They depicted diagrams of a body - all the muscles, bones and organs carefully detailed and labelled. 

The Nightbloods were already waiting, some of them seated much like the day before and a few standing near the table Nyko had set up for her as she requested. It held a collections of mismatched mortars and pestles and bundles of dried herbs, ready to be turned into powder. 

Clarke had figured learning some basic first aid would not hurt the kids, and their work with the herbs would be a great help for the healers and by extension Polis’ denizens. 

She set her satchel down with a sigh of relief as the strap stopped digging into her bruises and walked towards two empty easels. She unrolled the sheepskins and with the kids’ help secured them to the wooden supports.

She didn’t sit among the  _ Natblida _ this time, but slightly above them on the dais that led up to Lexa’s throne. Clarke folded her hands on her lap and waited for the last, few excited whispers to die down.

“Healing,” she began when all eyes were trained on her, “is a blessing and a weapon as deadly as those you carry into a fight.” Someone snickered and her voice hardened. She had expected that reaction, most people didn’t realize a deep knowledge of the body and its functioning could kill as well as save. Some of the younger  _ Natblida _ probably didn’t yet realize the connection between lifting a plague and creating one. She had tasted the bitter medicine herself when the Grounders had deliberately infected her and her friends in order to quench resistance. Nyko had admitted to Clarke he had been the one Anya had consulted to carry out that plan.

She stood and walked to the table, grabbing a fistful of delicate, purplish flowers. 

“Anyone knows the name of this one?” 

The small girl who had climbed into her arms so daringly, lifted her hand. “It’s foxglove. They’re so pretty! The older girls in my village used to make garlands with them.” 

“Pretty yes,” Clarke set them down and dusted her hands, “and deadly.” She walked to the first easel, where the hand drawn diagram showed a man, front opened to show the organs underneath. She tapped two fingers on the heart. 

“Foxglove leaves contain substances that will help a struggling heart, but slip a hearty dose in someone’s food, even the most healthy warrior, and their heart will stop.” 

The silence in the room was absolute now and she turned their back to them and walked up the dais. Her hands traced the throne’s sinuous lines almost tenderly, and the ache she carried inside because of Lexa’s absence filled the spaces between her ribs until it was hard to breathe. She bit the inside of her cheek bloody and whirled around, blue gaze piercing theirs in turn. 

“One day one of you will be  _ Heda _ and sit on this throne. You need to know these things, for your own safety and that of others.”

A boy, dark haired and almost Aden’s age raised his hand and she nodded to him, inviting him to talk.

“What if  _ Heda _ had someone to taste the food for them? Wouldn’t that solve the problem?” 

Clarke nodded, unsurprised by the question. The kids learned tactics as well as combat. “True, but what about the warrior that tasted food for you? Or someone close to you that may become a target because of your position?” the ghost of a girl long dead, killed by Lexa’s enemies, tugged at her mind. “Wouldn’t you want to save them?” 

He lowered his hand slowly, face pensive then nodded forcefully biting his lower lip. 

“I will teach you how,” she murmured gently. 

She stood again and gestured to the drawings, “what’s the quickest way to kill a man? The most quiet?” She clenched her hand into a fist, “You know how to wield a sword, but I will tell you where its strike is most effective and how to save a comrade on the battlefield even when your eyes tell you there’s nothing to be done.” 

As her words died down, she walked among them and touched each one on a shoulder, dividing them into two groups, led by Aden and the dark-haired youth, Elyas. She set them to work, dividing the bundles of herbs in smaller fistfuls and teaching them the herbs’ names and what parts were of use. 

Soon enough they were gathered in a circle around the table, grinding some herbs into powder, boiling others in water over the heat of a brazier Clarke’s guards had dragged inside for them. 

The soothing scent of medicinal herbs filled every corner of the room, and the blonde felt tension leave her for a while. The kids asked more and more questions, told her stories of this or that time they had seen similar plants while training in the forest and time passed quickly, its touch light and gentle for a time. 

When a servant was allowed inside to light some torches, she clapped her hands to attract their attention.

“Enough for today. Let’s gather the herbs we prepared and leave them in the infirmary for the healers. And everyone wash your hands very carefully before dinner or we’ll have to put your new knowledge to the test.” She scowled and the younger kids gasped at the implications. 

She stopped Aden before he could leave with the others and squeezed his arm. 

“You all did well,” he straightened proudly and gave her a bright smile, “I will see you to bed after dinner.”

Aden blushed and nodded, “thank you Clarke. It helps...we...she…” he faltered and before the blonde could stop and reconsider, she threw her arms around him, in a bone crushing hug. She felt his arms hug back, his hold softer, mindful of all her bruises. 

Clarke pulled back and cleared her throat abashed, letting her arms fall to her sides. They both avoided looking at the other, comforted yet embarassed by the closeness. 

In the end it was their stomachs that pushed them onwards. Clarke’s gave an impatient growl, echoed by Aden’s. He huffed out a strangled giggle and she followed, laughing with him.

“We better eat before our stomachs decide to gnaw through our bones,” she managed in between fits of laughter. 

“I don’t think that’s medically possible,  _ Wanheda. _ ” Clarke only laughed harder and put a hand on his shoulder, walking alongside him. 

The boy walked with her to the elevator where they parted, as he rejoined the waiting Nightbloods. Two of her Guards rode down with the children, while Angus and the rest trailed her to her rooms. 

Once alone Clarke slumped against the wall and let out the tears that had threatened to spill down her cheeks all day. She knew it was stupid to feel this way, and that if something had happened to Lexa they would already know, but she could not push away the dread that had taken up residency inside her skull. 

Food forgotten, she walked to the bed and let herself fall on it, gathering the shirt Lexa had slept in before leaving to herself. She curled around it and pressed her face into the fabric, letting her lover’s lingering scent fill her lungs. Small, quiet sobs rattled her chest and she allowed herself to be weak for a while, before she had to be strong for everyone else again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke keeps a promise and something about the way she was wounded is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual kudos and comments are welcome. Thanks to everyone that left feedback thus far! If you have question or want to talk to me, you can do it on here or on Tumblr @kendrene
> 
> The song featuring in the chapter is "Heart's on Fire" by Passenger - I had it on repeat when I wrote this part - I am not saying you should give it a listen, but...yeah ok I am saying that.
> 
> Thanks Panda for the support AAAAAAAAAAAA's

Clarke lifted her head, opening her eyes and slowly let go of Lexa’s shirt. The worn fabric was now darkened by her tears and she fisted the bed’s furs with her hands, gripping tightly to keep her arms from shaking. She coughed up the last sob, a wrenching, ugly sound that scratched at her throat on the way out, then slowly willed herself to relax her death-grip on the pelts.

She rolled on her flank, facing Lexa’s side of the bed, hands skimming the empty space. The sheets were cold under her touch, the impression of the Commander’s body on the mattress long gone. Still, Clarke revelled in fond memories that dulled the throbbing in her chest to a bearable beat. Usually Lexa would be the first one to wake, and Clarke knew from her lover’s own confession, that the brunette would spend some time staring at her sleeping companion, afraid to disentangle their knotted limbs and breathing ever so lightly. Clarke usually woke when she felt Lexa’s feathered touches trace the tattoo that wrapped around her shoulder and spilled onto her back. The Commander had designed it herself, a sign of the bond they shared, and Nyko had begun transferring it from the canvas to her pale skin.

The blonde snatched her hands back, before a fresh tide of tears crushed her, and sat up, wincing at the soreness of her body. Her muscles were leaden and aching, and as she pressed the heels of her hands to her cheeks, she felt her skin burn with a flash of fever. Clarke sighed, willing herself upright. As her feet touched the floor she swayed slightly, dizziness ringing bells inside her ears, and carefully made her way to the table where a servant had left food for her dinner.

A wooden tray had been placed on the polished surface, covered by a piece of cloth. Clarke twitched it aside and uncovered a plate heaped high with slices of cold beef. There were some tubers, similar to potatoes, and a smaller cup with a brownish sauce she knew from past experiences was spicy. A loaf of bread, still warm from the oven, completed the meal. Clarke shook her head and clicked her tongue slightly amused, mouth twisting wrily. She recognized Angus’ hand behind her dinner; he probably had it prepared with his own appetite in mind.

Next to the tray was a pitcher and when Clarke removed the cloth wrapped around its top to sniff at the contents, the sweet and tangy aroma of mulled wine hit her nose. She placed her palms against the container; it was still warm and she let the heat soak through her fingers for a moment. With a grateful sigh she poured herself a cup and absentmindedly began to nibble on the food. She rolled a slice of beef between her fingers and dipped it into the sauce, shuddering when its spiciness pricked her tongue. It was good though, and she cut the loaf of bread in half with the knife she had taken to carrying at her belt since Titus’ attack.

Clarke placed a few slices of beef on the bread, followed by chunks of potatoes and a sprinkling of sauce. She used the other part of the bread to close the sandwich and took a bite, chasing it down with a gulp of wine.

Warmth curled in her belly and she tilted her head back, draining the cup and pouring out a second one. She took her food and began to walk pensively around Lexa’s rooms. The chambers were dark, as the fire dancing in the hearth was the only source of light. Clarke’s eyes lingered on the worn couch. At this time of night Lexa would be sitting there, engrossed in a book or studying a map, a tankard of ale on the floor next to her within easy reach.

Clarke usually sat at the table, a few candles lit around her as she idly sketched out something that had captured her attention during the day, or more often Lexa herself.

It was a quiet time they both cherished, and Clarke turned her mind away from it with effort. The whole room felt emptier somehow, and Lexa’s aura which usually lingered even when the Commander wasn’t present, seemed washed out and waning. She rubbed her eyes irritably and went to take another bite of her sandwich, discovering there was none left. She had been so engrossed in her thoughts that she hadn’t realized her hand was grasping nothing but empty air.

She moved back to the table, footsteps echoing loudly and dug into the remaining food. She was surprised at wiping the plate clean, but then again she wasn’t used to such a strenuous training. Furthermore her body was still healing from the wound and it craved the energy. As she speared the last of the potatoes and slowly chewed, she thought she’d eat even more if there was any.

She should go and stay with the Nightbloods a while, but she took a few more moments for herself and walked to the double windows that led out into Lexa’s private balcony. The casements were a bit warped and ill-fitting, but the glass panes the Arkadians had provided to the Commander kept part of the chill out. Still a few wicked drafts slithered inside and poked her sides with icy fingers.

Clarke trailed a hand along the glass, then rested her forehead against it. Glass had been something rare and sought after before they came to Earth, and it still was, but _Skaikru_ had helped the Grounders increase production. It had been one of the things they had exchanged in return for winter supplies. The shadow of a smile crossed the blonde’s lips as her eyes peered intently at the darkness outside. They were slowly fitting the tower’s windows with glass and she had seen a few houses with new windows on her last trip to TonDC. For once change was not brought on by violence.

Outside it was night’s absolute dominion, the moon and distant stars hidden behind the cover of the clouds. It didn’t matter to Clarke, as she could conjure every detail of the view by sheer memory alone. From the houses crowding around the tower to the forest beyond the city’s gates and the mountains further away.

Her heart fluttered madly, a bird trying to escape the ivory cage of her ribs at the thought that Lexa was out there somewhere. Fighting certainly, maybe wounded. Perhaps dead.

She whirled around, cursing herself for her dark thoughts just as there was a soft knock at the door. It opened without prompting and Angus stuck his head inside. He took in what crumbs were left of the food and grinned, but satisfaction fled his face as their eyes met. He stepped inside and shut the door behind his back, holding her gaze captive with knowing eyes, dark as obsidian in the low light.

“It’s fine to not be ok, Clarke, “ his voice was slow and gentle. He spoke deliberately, like someone calming a wounded beast that could bolt at any moment, “it’s fine to miss her.” His next words were harsher and struck like a whip across her back, “you still have your duties and a promise to keep.”

Clarke blinked and straightened, puffing out her chest in one long huff of air. She breathed out her sorrow and her fear as his words hit home, and her mind refocused on her purpose.

Angus watched the transformation, eyes storing every detail. It was his duty to know the one he was bound to protect by blood oath, so that he could serve at the best of his abilities. Which sometimes included scolding her when she veered off course. He saw in Clarke the same resolve that animated the Commander, but the _Skaiprisa_ was still growing into the leader he knew she could be. _Heda_ had been trained to lead since childhood, while Clarke had been forced to do so by circumstances.

As his words washed over her, he saw her eyes harden to a bright sapphire that gathered the light. The low flames reflected into her irises, tiny specks of crimson like a scattering of embers coming to life among the blue.

 _Wanheda_ ’s mask flickered over her features as she fought with her emotions and as always Angus felt a small shiver run down his back at the presence that suddenly filled the space between them. Death stared back at him from across the room, cold and unyielding. He didn’t think Clarke knew how terrible and vengeful she truly looked when she wrapped herself in that mantle.

Then the girl blinked, shattering the spell that had settled like an itch right under his skin and walked up to him. She patted his shoulder as she passed him by, and his attentive eyes noticed the ill disguised grimace that soured her mouth as she lifted her arm to reach him.

“I will have someone bring water for a bath, while you are with the Nightbloods,” he mentioned casually and Clarke nodded gratefully.

“ _Mochof ai gona_ ,”[thank you my warrior] Anticipation pebbled Clarke’s skin with goosebumps at the mention of a bath. Her thanks went beyond that though. Angus’ cutting words had been like a cold shower, washing away her inner darkness for a while. She hoped that their effect would last more than a few hours.

He accompanied her to the elevator, riding down with her to the Nightblood’s quarters. She watched him lean against the rickety metal cage and knew that he was tired, perhaps more than she was.

“You could have sent another and gotten some shut-eye,” Clarke kept her tone carefully neutral. She didn’t want Angus’ to think she was implying he was weak,

“I will sleep when _Wanheda_ sleeps,” he rumbled. They had exited the elevator and as usual when others could be listening he was a picture of perfect formality. As they walked he crossed his arms across his chest and stared down at her daring her to say more. Clarke bit back a snarky reply, too exhausted to deal with a grumpy bodyguard.

Muted laughter and voices floated down the corridor, then a loud, sudden crash shattered the relative quiet. Before Angus could restrain her, Clarke sprinted forward, adrenaline igniting sparks along her bones. Her guard’s thumping footsteps thundered right behind her, as he cursed her and the slippery floor tiles with the same fervor.

She flung the door to the Nightbloods’ room open so hard it rebounded against the wall, then reflexes kicked in and she ducked, as a shadowy streak hurtled towards her face.

There was a surprised grunt and the sound of a blade ripping through cloth. Something white and weightless cascaded in a whirlwind around the blonde, blinding her momentarily. When she straightened and absorbed the scene, she burst out laughing, bracing against the doorjamb for support.

The children stood frozen in the midst of what appeared to be a heated pillow fight, some of them actually stilled mid-swing. Two had flipped over a table for cover, and Clarke guessed that was what had caused the noise they heard in the corridor.

Her bruised ribs hurt and her wound pulsed dully, but she could not hold herself back. She gulped, trying to draw even breaths as her eyes teared up. Angus was grumbling irritably behind her and she heard him sheathe his knife with an annoyed rattle.

“That was...it was...very valiant,” she managed to wheeze out, between a peal of laughter and the next.

He scoffed. “Next time it could be a knife thrown at your heart, I’m sure you’ll thank me then.”

Clarke glanced down at the torn pillowcase. A few stray feathers were still fluttering downward in lazy spirals. “I’m sure the pillow had it coming.”

Angus growled something under his breath that sounded rather uncomplimentary and her eyes flicked up, but when she scanned his face another set of giggles jiggled her bones.

“What?” He scowled down at her dangerously, a low rumble echoing inside his chest.

The blonde plucked a feather from his beard and grinned. Holding it up for him to see.

“You should see your hair, _Wanheda_ ,” he shot back, laughing uproariously when she lifted her free hand automatically to run her fingers through her tresses,

They both turned to the kids, who had been watching the exchange in silence, not daring to move. Aden turned bright red when Clarke looked at him and she put on her most reassuring smile. Truth be told, it warmed her heart to see them act as regular kids sometimes.

The boy was standing atop his cot, and as he was the only one who had frozen facing the door, Clarke assumed it was him who had thrown the pillow in her direction.

She clapped her hands and they all emerged from their paralysis, the youngest ones giggling like they were sharing a big secret while the older _Natblida_ looked slightly embarassed.

“Let’s all straighten this up, uh?” Clarke cheerfully gestured at the mess, “imagine the Commander’s face if she marched in here right now.” That had them scrambling over each other to collect the feathers and straighten the upturned table. Angus left them to it with a bemused shake of his head, and Clarke pitched in helping the children and gently reassuring the few ones that thought she was mad at them.

Once the room had returned to its normal tidiness the Nightbloods looked to her expectantly.

“Can we have a story now Clarke?” They chorused, eyes wide and pleading.

She rubbed at her temples tiredly, “what about I tuck you in and we all go to sleep instead? Even _Wanheda_ gets tired sometimes.” Her proposal was met by cries of protest and an insistent tugging at the back of her shirt made her turn.

Ida, the same girl who had taken to sitting on her lap whenever possible gave her a teary look. Her lip was trembling slightly, and there was a touch of snot hanging from her nose. She sniffled and Clarke felt resolve crumble. She wondered briefly if they used the same tricks with Lexa but figured that _Heda_ must be immune.

Clarke noticed that Ida had dumped the feathers she had collected onto her cot and was sitting on top of a frothy sea of white. She sat down next to her with a tired sigh and ruffled her hair.

“Everyone under the blankets.” her voice was gruff but affectionate. The kids complied, reassured by the fact she didn’t look like she was going anywhere soon. Once they were all settled and the rustling of covers had ceased, Clarke cleared her throat and began singing in a cracked, faltering voice.

 _Well I don't know how and I don't know why_  
_But when something's living well you can't say die_  
_You feel like laughing but you start to cry_ _  
_ I don't know how and I don't know why.

She wished she had her father’s old, scruffy guitar, but of course the Delinquents had not been allowed personal effects when they had been sent to Earth, and then the Ark had crashed down, destroying what little of her life had been left behind in space.

 _Well I don't have many and I don't have much_  
_In fact I don't have any but I've got enough_  
_'Cause I know those eyes and I know that touch_ _  
_ I don't have many and I don't have much.

The words came easier as she sang, even the ones she had thought forgotten. Her voice grew stronger and assured. It was throaty and warm, with a hint of scratchy breathiness at the edges.

 _Well I don't have many and I don't have much_  
_In fact I don't have any but I've got enough_  
_'Cause I know those eyes and I know that touch_ _  
_ I don't have many and I don't have much.

 _Oh darling my heart's on fire_  
_Oh darling my heart's on fire_ _  
For you_

Clarke lowered her voice as she sang the refrain and whispered the last two words, directing them at Lexa more than at the kids now slumbering around her. A single tear hung at the corner of her eye, trapped in long eyelashes like morning dew, then fell and made its way down her cheek and to her lips. Clarke’s tongue darted out and the bitter salt of loneliness spread inside her mouth.

Around her the children’s breathing has slowed to a quiet murmur and they slept huddled under the blankets. The blonde stood slowly, careful not to wake anyone and moved around the room snuffing out the candles. She kept the last one alight and took it with herself to the door, body heavy with fatigue.

Sleep tugged at her eyelids, but she knew it wouldn’t be as easy as her body pretended so she made her way back to Lexa’s chambers with a sort of shuffled resignation. Sensing her mood, Angus kept silent, only bowing when it was time to leave her at her door. As she shut herself in solitude, her thoughts were filled by her missing lover and Clarke knew it would be another long night of hoping.  

On impulse she brought the still burning candle to the window, dragging a stool with her so she had somewhere to place it. She knew the notion was stupid, but could not shake the thought that the light would help Lexa find her way home safely.

Oddly calmed by that, she went about preparing herself a bath. The fire had been restocked and the burning wood crackled noisily in the hearth, filling the room with the scent of pine and resin. Still, shadows lingered in the far corners and pressed in on her, so she lit a scattering of candles. A warm, golden hue tinged the air, the wooden surfaces shining with shades of orange and red.

Clarke gathered her sleeping clothes and the jar of ointment Angus had procured for her and went to a smaller room that functioned as Lexa’s bathroom. The copper bathtub took up most of the space, big enough for two people, and she looked at it fondly, remembering all the times she had sat in it with Lexa.

Behind it was a small raised platform, on which a servant had left a few buckets of water for her. A flat brazier was tucked underneath, coals still glowing cherry red. Clarke placed the items she was carrying on a small table, where a bar of scented soap and soft towels were already laid out and went to test the water.

She dipped her fingers in the nearest bucket and hummed in pleasure as the water’s heat made them tingle. It was just what her muscles needed, she thought. She stripped off her clothes, dirtied by sweat and the day’s activities and dumped the contents of the buckets inside the tub. Steam spiralled up from the water’s sloshing surface and her head cleared instantly, the headache that had been lurking behind her eyes fading away.

Clarke grabbed the bar of soap and gingerly stepped over the tub’s rim, groaning at the heat. She lowered herself into the water slowly, the liquid quickly going from unbearably scalding to just the right temperature as her body adjusted. Clarke revelled in its embrace for a few minutes, before lathering herself up with the soap. The clean aroma of lavender spread like a balm on her senses, and she sighed happily as she felt her muscles loosen. Stretching carefully, she let out a low moan, eyes slit in pleasure as the water worked to relax her further.

The blonde let herself slide down into the tub until the water was lapping at her chin. Her hair floated around her like an underwater, golden mane and fatigue pulled her eyelids down. She blinked lazily, mind drifting, then surrendered to what her body wanted, resting the back of her head against the tub. It wasn’t like she could drown, she mused with a snort and she would only close her eyes for a few minutes. It wouldn’t hurt to rest in the water for a while, right?

Right.

Besides the warmth was a pleasant caress on her stomach, soothing the ache left behind by Aden’s sword. Just a few minutes. Just…

* * *

 

... _Her hands tugged frantically at rusted chains that wouldn’t give, Murphy’s head lolling forward as his body shifted slightly. His face was caked in grime and drying blood, and fresh droplets marked a scarlet passage on his gaunt cheeks._

_“Oh my God,” Clarke’s sweaty hands slipped and the chain rattled, “Murphy.” She hadn’t seen him since he left with Jaha on some sort of crazy quest. None of the people that went with the ex-Chancellor had been sighted again, despite Kane’s patrols and the identikits they had given out to the clans in the hope someone would have found the group of renegades. Jaha was still wanted for treason, as he had appropriated valuable resources, even though they all assumed his dead body was rotting somewhere. Good riddance too._

_“He’s alive,” She wondered how Titus managed to make it look like he was emerging from the shadows in broad daylight. Then again the man always looked like he was lurking. Anger settled in her guts as the implications of his presence became clear inside her mind._

_“What did you do to my friend?” Weird that she would call Murphy a friend after all he had put them through, yet he was one of the Hundred and that counted for something in Clarke’s book._

_“Your friend was caught stealing from people on their way to the Polis market.” Yeah she could believe that, but her hands went to the gag that stuffed Murphy’s mouth regardless._

_“Please don’t do that.” The familiar dull glint of a matted finish caught Clarke’s eye and she gaped as she saw Titus raise a gun, her own damn weapon and aim it straight at her._

_“Titus,” she stood, moving away from Murphy and raising her hands slowly so that the Fleimkepa could see them, “what is this about?”_

_“I am sorry it had to come to this, Clarke.” The scary part was he truly sounded regretful. Then maybe he was just soothing his conscience, she thought, as she met eyes so hard they looked dead._

_“Are you?” She nodded to the weapon, “thought you weren’t supposed to touch those. I’m kinda hoping you’ll self-combust in a second.” Snark wasn’t maybe the best way to approach someone that had you at gunpoint, but she just couldn’t help herself._

_Titus didn’t laugh._

_“You have too much influence Clarke,” he took a step forward and the gun’s muzzle trailed her as she shuffled further away from Murphy, “you have blinded Lexa to the truth!”_

_“And what is the truth?” she spat back._

_“That it’s a matter of time before you turn into the next Mountain Men! What if Pike had managed to seize power? What would he have done with the guns and other things you took from the Mountain?”_

_“My own people foiled his plan and the Mountain is no more.” Clarke knew they had come dangerously close to annihilation, but couldn’t Titus see it had been the Arkadians themselves who had isolated the conspirators by deciding to support her mother’s decision to join Lexa’s Coalition? Nia had taken care of the Mountain and the deaths the Haiplana had caused still pained her, despite the Queen meeting her bloody end._

_“Yet he is still alive.”_

_“In prison,” Clarke took a step forward, pleading with her eyes for him to stop and listen to her, “he isn’t a danger anymore.”_

_Pike had been a rabid wolf, crazed by a truth he believed absolute. She thought perhaps she was facing another of his kind. Unbridled, undiluted righteousness could be a dangerous poison, even for the strongest mind._

_“I am truly sorry Clarke.”_

_“Lexa will know it was you!” she hated how desperate her voice was, “she will kill you for this Titus!”_

_“She will think it was him,” his words curdled with a veneer of contempt, “a Skaikru thief,” he waved the gun in Murphy’s direction, “a Skaikru weapon. Maybe it will be enough to convince her to declare war and kill you all!”_

_He pulled the trigger and the first shot buzzed next to her ear, ricocheting against the wall and shattering something fragile right behind her. Clarke functioned on survival, her body uncoiling into a frantic run and her mind barely able to keep up. More bullets followed, chipping the stone and wood around her as she instinctively went for the door. If she could get to the corridor and scream for the guards… Unless Titus had sent the guards away._

_She didn’t know what made her turn to face him, if it was her ankle twisting awkwardly that jerked her around or if she heard the click of the door’s lock and instinctively knew who was behind it._

_Time seemed to still, then sharp pain bloomed right beneath her diaphragm. She tottered, disbelieving hands instinctively reaching up to soothe the ache._

_“Clarke?” Lexa’s gentle voice was coated with confusion. Clarke’s legs gave way._

_“CLARKE!” Panic now, green eyes wide with fear locking with hers, arms catching her to cushion her fall. The thud of a spent gun hitting the floor._

_She knew she should be afraid, but all she could think of was that she had never seen the wings of fear shadow the Commander before. Now that should give her pause, she assumed._

_Clarke wanted to lift her head, wanted to look at the spot her shaky fingers were trying to cover. Was it really her hands, or Lexa’s? Her body felt disconnected, unreal and she couldn’t be sure._

_“Cold,” she choked on the word, something wet and sticky bubbling at the corner of her mouth. Her tongue hurt; had she bitten into it?_

_“Stay with me,” the words were muffled as if Clarke’s head was underwater, “stay with me niron.”_

_A hand came into view, drenched with red. Lexa cradled her cheek then slapped it lightly. “Keep your eyes open Klark.”_

_Thunder crashed in the distance, then resolved into a rumbling avalanche of approaching feet. Someone was coming._

_Whatever coated Lexa’s hand was hot against the blonde’s skin. She wanted to turn her head away. She craved sleep. Why wouldn’t Lexa let her rest for a while?_

_Blood. It was blood her mind screamed, and closing eyes popped open. It was her blood and there was an ocean of it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you have questions. 
> 
> How does ALIE fit? 
> 
> What happened with Murphy? 
> 
> Where the hell is Lexa? 
> 
> Also- I hope you are ok with the fact that the Arkers reacted to Pike the way any sane person would have. Lock him away for conspiring and trying to break a truce instead of letting him run in the election. I know that isn't canon compliant, but I really, really hate the original plotline. If you don't forgive the liberty, please feel free to yell at me in the comments.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unable to rest, Clarke stumbles upon a secret.
> 
> A messenger is brough on by the light of dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I love about this chapter is that I could delve deep into world building- and so I dived and a few of the questions I left with you last chapter start to get resolved.
> 
> As usual, kudos and comments are welcomed and appreciated. I have a feeling I will get yelled at for this chapter- feel free to do so below or on tumblr @kendrene
> 
> Enjoy! (and if none of you kill me in the meantime, see you next week!) And we will be back to Natblida goodness I swear!

Clarke came to her senses with an anguished scream, arms flailing as her shattered mind tried to put itself back together. She hissed when her elbows struck the side of the tub, the water licking at her breasts turned uncomfortably lukewarm. Her breath rasped painfully against the sides of her throat, chest heaving wildly with every frantic gulp of air she swallowed.

She grasped the tub’s edges with slippery fingers, trying to pull herself up and out of the water, but muscles turned rigid by the nightmare refused to cooperate. Her feet slid against the tub’s bottom, grappling for purchase and her head swam, vision riddled by black blotches as she began to hyperventilate.

Strong arms wound under her armpits and around her torso, rough hands locking over her sternum as she was lifted upwards. Clarke struggled, the last shards of her dream sending her into a frenzied panic at the sudden pressure against her chest.

Rapidly cooling water splashed over the rim and spattered on the floor tiles.

“Clarke, stop!” The strained snarl resounding right behind her ear jerked her out of her blind panic with a shocked gasp. The voice was familiar, hoarse with the effort of restraining her, and lacked its customary snarky undertones.

She blinked back the tears that made the room a hazy mess of wavering shadows and looked up at her rescuer, frowning slightly. Murphy’s face was bathed in flickering half-light, the bruises left by the manhandling he had suffered at Titus’ hands completely faded. However the experience had left the lines of his face forever changed; his nasal septum had been shattered and despite being reset by the healers it was now slightly crooked. It gave his face and hawkish quality, almost predatory, that he used in his favor to intimidate people.

Clarke remembered the first time she’d woken in the tower’s infirmary after the surgery to find him laying on the cot next to hers, face swollen almost beyond recognition. He had been growling at Nyko about everything, the food, his lumpy cot, the lack of moonshine, thought what she remembered the most had been the fleeting relief softening his hard, blue eyes. He liked to play the ruthless cutthroat and perhaps in a way he was, but Clarke knew there were more layers to him than that.

The others held him at arm’s length and that was what had prompted him to leave Arkadia, not the smoky mirage of a promised land. She didn’t think they were really friends, but if there was one who understood that the world they lived in required callousness, it was Murphy. He’d also been the only _Skaikru_ present when she was shot, and that had somehow bonded them.

Clarke blinked again, realizing he was still holding her, half her body submerged in the freezing water, very cold now and still very naked.

Embarassed heat shot down her back and she shrugged his hands off, climbing shakily out of the bathtub with a fierce glower.

“You’re welcome.” He muttered drily.

She knew he wasn’t about to look away anytime soon and the last dregs of her nightmare scratched at her eyelids, even as the details were mercifully fading from her mind. Bile and anger mixed in her guts and the taut rubber band of her patience snapped under the pressure.

So she lashed out, knowing she was being unfair, lacking the strength to care,

“You’re staring.” She stood there naked, dripping wet and shivering, aware that she could use her arms to hide the most intimate parts of herself, yet refusing to be the first one to move. When Murphy’s insolent grin widened, the guilt of using him as focal point to repress her lingering fears vanished.

“Contrary to popular belief, I can resist a pair of tits, “ he barked a laugh as her hand shot up to cover her breasts, and her glare turned from annoyed to furious. “As nice as those breasts are.” he added with a nonchalant roll of his shoulders and she felt her face redden.

Murphy leaned his hip against the table, watching Clarke’s face go from the blanched tones of shock to the red of anger and shame. It crept from just below her eyes to suffuse her cheeks then spilled down her neck, heating her skin. He had no intention of moving his gaze away, throughly enjoying the view. It was truly something, to see the great and feared _Wanheda_ be this… _vulnerable_. His mouth twitched as self loathing swelled inside him like water from a burst pipe and his eyes dropped to the floor while he reached behind his back blindly grabbing a towel and throwing it in her direction.

He saw her snatch it out of the air with a graceful flick of the wrist and wrap it around herself in one fluid motion.

“Thank you.” It was gnashed between gritted teeth, but it was more than he’d normally receive. Still, Murphy couldn’t resist one final jibe.

“By the way you’re not my type.” Untrue, but Princess didn’t need to know that. And Commander Greeneyes _especially_ didn’t need to know that.

“I didn’t think you had a type. Or standards.” Clarke bit back, starting to dry herself off.

There she was, the flippant, highly annoying woman who had managed to coax the Ark’s hierarchy and the Grounder clans into an unthinkable alliance. Murphy couldn’t stand the haughtiness, but he had to admit he’d been relieved when she had woken up from her coma.

She seemed to be the only one from the Ark that gave a damn about him. She had been much more withdrawn and brittle since she had been shot, or at least that had been his impression when he had laid eyes on her from afar. He was glad to see her spark was slowly coming back.

“Anyway what are you doing in here?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, and brushing past him, walked back to the other room to find clean clothes. He snorted and rolled his eyes in exasperation, shaking his head as he followed. Typical that she should forget.

“I’m a slave, remember?” She wiggled into a loose blouse and turned to face him, blue eyes suddenly very sharp.

He didn’t flinch under the flinty stare, grabbing the strings closing the collar of his shirt to untie them and pull the fabric open to expose the metal band around his throat.

She merely looked at him unmoved and a single bead of sweat made its way down the side of his nose. He found it way unnerving when she went all frost queen on him and the only other person he knew could pull that trick was Lexa. The Commander was definitely rubbing off on Clarke. In more ways than one, he thought and snickered silently.

Clarke sighed, pressing the pads of the thumbs to eyes burning with fatigue. As annoying as she found Murphy to be at times, she couldn’t deny that his arrival had been providential. When she saw him undo his shirt to show the collar with an all suffering expression, she felt the urge to hit him with something, possibly heavy and sharp.

“Shouldn’t you be thanking me, considering that the alternative was losing your hands?” She framed the rebuke inside a question and  gave a little shrug much like the one she had endured from him and smirked, “if you’ve changed your mind about our deal, Lexa can carry out the original sentence when she gets back.”

He grimaced and tied his shirt close, white lines around his eyes. “I think I’m good thanks.”

“Thought so.” Clarke knew he was grateful and just generally loved to complain about things. Murphy was like that, always grumbling about something. As things turned out, Titus had not been lying when he’d told her John was arrested for being an highwayman, and the penalty for thievery among the Grounders was harsh; perpetrators’ hands were cut off at the wrist and a brand denouncing the crime was burned on their foreheads. Clarke had reeled at the cruelty of it, but hadn’t been surprised. Resources on the ground were scarce too, although not as much as on the Ark, and there was a sense of divine righteousness in the fact that a thief would have to rely on the charity of those he’d wronged to survive after his punishment.

She had fought long and hard with Lexa on the matter, to make the Commander accept that mercy wasn’t synonym of weakness. In the end Lexa had conceded an addendum to the law that didn’t delete the basic principle. If a thief showed sincere remorse, the Commander could commute the sentence to servitude.

Coaching Murphy into showing a semblance of contrition had been an entirely different battle. Sometimes, when he exasperated her, Clarke wondered why she’d bothered, but as his perpetual half-smirk returned to his lips, she knew there had been an entirely selfish reason for it. She needed someone around that remembered the person she’d been and where she came from. She needed Murphy, and had a good hunch that Murphy needed her.

“So why are you here?”

“You should be thanking me,” snark was back into his voice, twining around each word like copper wire, “I am the one who set up your bath.”

“Then you can remove the empty buckets and yourself.” It came out forceful and clipped, much more than she’d intended and she turned towards the window sharply, faking disinterest to hide her chagrin. Her temper was too frayed, the reins she used to command it so well with, worn threadbare by worry.

The light of the candles turned the glass panes into a darkened mirror and she was grateful that the details weren’t clear enough for her to see the obvious hurt that must have flashed through Murphy’s gaze. He bowed low, rigid as if his shirt had been doused with starch where she expected mockery and she knew she may as well have kicked him to the ground.

Her head dipped forward, the chill of the windowpane failing to dispel the headache licking at her temples and closed her eyes.

Murphy shuffled back and forth, gathering the buckets and the empty food tray, clattering about leisurely in a show of noisy rebellion. Snatches of muttered remarks tickled her ears; _ungrateful_ and _Princess_ seemed to feature prominently and she slightly winced at each one as it stabbed between her ribs.

Her eyes snapped open when she heard the door’s latch being undone and she called out without turning.

“John.” His first name came forth, unbidden and unfamiliar, exhaled tiredly and mellow. The shuffling ceased and silence became a living thing between them, crawling at the edges of the candlelight.

“Don’t call me that.” He croaked finally, shakily.

“Thank you.” Her throat seized, refusing to forge her weakness into words. Clarke wanted to, but couldn’t for doing so would make the nightmare coalesce into reality and she bore its mark already, a bullet-shaped wound on her chest.

“It was nothing.” A soft, dulcet baritone so strange coming from him. Then he pushed the door open, gathering his things and added, some of the familiar fire returning. “Try with alcohol. I hear it helps.”

She’d have to remind Angus to send in one of Lexa’s handmaidens next time, although she wouldn’t entirely put it past the warrior to have plagued her with Murphy as payback for the pillow joke.

The door shut quietly behind her and she pulled back from the window, head heavy as if stuffed with wool. Her hands tugged the panes open and the light dimmed around her for a moment as the wind swept inside, bending the flames to its whims.

Clarke moved the candle she had lit for Lexa further away from the open window, noticing it was barely more than a slowly melting stub. She used it to light another one and placed it on the bed table, out of harm’s way.

The gale’s icy touch eased the thumping in her temples a little and she pulled it deep into her lungs filling herself to bursting, teeth aching with the cold. It smelled of something fragile she could only describe as anticipation.

Clarke lowered her gaze, glancing at the rumpled bed with longing. A few pelts had crumpled to the floor and the pillows were scrunched together into a pile on her side of the bed. A sad smile fittered across her lips; she always appropriated Lexa’s pillows, sometimes while the Commander was resting on them.

She shivered and it wasn’t from the cold pushing at her back, a wintry wind so strong it hunched her over and caused her to stagger a step away from the window. Her eyes itched to close the world out, but the prospect of more nightmares made sleep less than appealing.

She puttered aimlessly around, then sat at Lexa’s old and battered secretary desk, hands flat on a wooden surface smoothed down by daily use, imagining she could soak up some of the brunette’s essence.

Lexa was meticulously orderly, bordering compulsive, and as her eyes surmised the supplies neatly arranged on the desk awaiting the Commander’s need, Clarke remembered how delighted she had been when she’d discovered that Lexa could draw perhaps better than her. She had a keen eye for detail, but while Clarke sketched whatever drew her curiosity, the Commander chose to employ her skills for more practical uses. She’d added to the Tower’s already extensive map collection, by charting unexplored territories herself and even drawn the likeness that led to Clarke’s capture, the blonde recollected a smudge less amused.

Her next breath was all regret. She’d wasted so much time hating Lexa that now it felt the hours they managed to spend together were never enough. The wind rustled the stack of thick, blank papers at her elbow and she caught one between pinched fingers delicately so it wouldn’t crease and pinned it before it could flutter away.

Her fingers scrambled blindly for a piece of charcoal, but the sudden knot in her throat that didn’t want to budge no matter how much she swallowed, had her knuckles clenching hard. Too hard, and the piece of coal snapped in two with a dry crack along with the resolve keeping her tears in.

Half of it rolled forward, leaving a black smear on the creamy piece of paper she was holding down on the table, the other shot out of her grip and bounced towards the back of the desk. It lodged itself in a fissure of the wood, a hole left by one of the small drawers so warped by weather or age it didn’t fit well in its casing anymore. Clarke leaned forward, cursing softly, one hand feeling the wood to find the errant charcoal, the other scrubbing angrily at her eyes.

Tears managed to leak through despite her efforts and dripped on the paper below, leaving wet streaks that caught the candles’ glow and made the parchment shimmer with a reflection of stolen light.  

The tips of her rustling fingers brushed against something metallic and there was an audible _click._ Clarke froze instantly, then with infinite care withdrew her hand, examining it for puncture wounds. Her mind was racing with thoughts of poisoned needles and hundreds of agonizing deaths, making her want to call herself all kind of stupid for it, but it was the Commander’s personal desk after all.

A wooden panel at the back fell away with a thud, revealing a small package ensconced within. Normally Clarke would have slotted it back, leaving whatever it was that Lexa had hidden there untouched. If it was something the Commander wanted her to know about she’d tell it herself.

An envelope secured to the box by a frayed length of bowstring held her gaze.

_Clarke_

Her name in blue ink, written with the precise, angular script that was so Lexa.  

Surely if the letter was addressed to her, the contents of the package were as well? Her hand hovered closer, and she trembled inside, her bones shaken by uncertainty like leaves about to fall off a tree.

That was the reasoning which brought her to do the unthinkable; her hand darted forward and before she could reconsider she was holding the package gently with both hands, staring at it wide-eyed, not quite believing she could be so daring.

She settled the package on the table for the time being and turned the letter between questing hands. The envelope creaked softly, reminding her how badly she was trembling, and when she flipped it over hiding her name, she found herself staring at Lexa’s personal sigil, impressed on a dollop of black wax.

Her thumbnail found purchase under the edge of the seal and Clarke broke it off, echoing the soft sound of the wax crumbling with a gasp of her own.

No turning back now.

She unfolded the paper, slanting it towards the light and began to read with baited breath.

> _Dearest Klark,_
> 
> _I do not know when I will find the courage to address this matter. I see the way you stare into the mirror as you dress. I know you never venture towards the end of the hall, your gaze darkening with the simple possibility of threading old paths that caused you so much suffering._

At that Clarke’s heart stuttered, but she forced herself to read on.

> _Still, this cannot wait for long. You are the only one I trust, with this or anything else. I trust you, not because I love you but because the Mountain taught me that you do what must be done and are ready to bear the costs and consequences._

The ghosts of the innocents she’d killed screamed at the back of her mind, transformed into vengeance-seeking revenants by her guilt. It itched like a rash on her skin, it penetrated her, slithered through her muscles, replaced the marrow in her bones. The Mountain had been the end of many things, and also a beginning.

There were so many questions, tumbling through Clarke’s mind as she stared at the words uncomprehendingly. When had Lexa written this? Her eyes moved from the letter to the waiting package and back.

> _Soon now I will be ready. I will shreds this paper and transfer its contents to my lips and then to you. But I had to unburden myself, I…_

The last sentence was scrawled hastily, as if Lexa was racing against time, trying to finish a thought before being interrupted. Clarke set the parchment aside and frowned at the package, clasping her hands together in her lap. She wasn’t sure she was ready to uncover its secrets just yet.

More twine was wound around a torn piece of fabric, tattered with age and crusted with dirt at the edges. Clarke leaned closer, squinty-eyed, and tried to discern its original color. It was hard to say what the rag had been a part of originally, but in the golden light, it appeared a washed out pink. Perhaps long ago it had been red. She had held the bundle when she took it out the first time, so she knew there was something hard beneath the cloth. A box, slightly rectangular in shape, probably metal if the weight was anything to go by.

“Screw it.”

She couldn’t hold her curiosity back any longer and unclenched her hands, reaching for the knots, tugging the strings loose with eagerness. Perversely, when the cloth fell away and the box was revealed, a dull metal as she had estimated, her heart quieted and the pressure in the room changed, easing off her shoulders.

She flipped the lid slowly, lifting it inch by inch to peek underneath, like a child savoring a forbidden treat. She paused before opening it completely, fingers drumming against the lid with fleeting hesitation, then let the cover drop heavily against the wood.

Inside a row of surgical instruments glinted faintly in greeting. Scalpels and tweezers and suture thread so thick it made her wince to think of it going through skin. A smaller tin box was tucked away in a corner, the space inside moulded to receive a small object, hexagonal in shape.

The most interesting thing was a small scrapbook, bundles of papers of every quality stitched together in a rudimentary book. An aura of careworn importance hung around it, and as her fingers brushed it with reverence, Clarke knew she was confronted by something sacred.

Perching on her seat, squirming to find a comfortable position, she opened the first yellowed page, pushed by an unseen force she could not oppose and began to read. Or rather she attempted to, because the text was line after line of random letters. It wasn’t English and most definitely did not resemble the Trigedasleng she heard and spoke everyday. A deep line appeared between her brows and her eyes narrowed, sparkling with though.

She remembered the games she played with her dad back on the Ark. He’d leave little messages for her to find, letters and words and symbols that made no apparent sense, scratched on scraps of paper or any surface that would hold writing, much to her mother’s annoyance. Except there always was a key, a cipher and no matter how many days it took Clarke always managed to crack it. It made sense, if the contents of the notebook were as important as they appeared.

There was a nagging feeling at the back of her mind that she wouldn’t have the luxury of days to unravel this mystery, so she quickly recovered the broken charcoal and paper and, balancing the ancient scrapbook open on her lap, began to work on the first line of text. Once she had that, it’d be easy to apply it to the rest. Unless the cipher changed of course.

Soon enough phrases that actually made sense began to emerge from the page.

She shook her head ruefully, marvelling at her quick success. Then again the Caesar Shift wasn’t particularly hard to crack if one knew where to look. She wondered why they hadn’t used something more secure, but she would not question her luck too much.

> **_1377 days Post Armageddon_ **
> 
> _My name is Janduin - and I am Fleimkepa to Bekka Pramheda._
> 
> _Most of the men that witnessed her falling from the Sky are dead, their flesh rotting off their bodies. One would think the storm of fire killed enough of us, but this death is a more subtle, quieter murderer. I prefer the first kind frankly - to go up in a blaze and a puff of smoke, rather than dissolving from the outside in, little by little._
> 
> _I shouldn’t moan too much, truly. I lost all my hair and I am told I look ten years older than my age, but there are people in the outer shelters whose teeth fell out along with their hair. Some bled from their orifices before falling over, dead on the spot._
> 
> _I am indeed lucky._

Clarke’s mouth had been hanging open for several minutes, her jaw starting to ache and it took a conscious effort for her to close it and remind herself to breathe. This man, this Janduin was describing the effect of severe radiation poisoning. The term _Pramheda_ which had sent her mind scurrying in confusion, started to make sense. Bekka had been the first in the line of Commanders, but there was something else that sent a shiver down Clarke’s spine.

“The men that witnessed her falling from the Sky.” She reread the sentence out loud, finger marking along the words, voice sandy with emotion. Her eyes dropped to the cipher and she double checked her translation. She _had to_ be sure. The implications were staggering. Had there been other stations beyond the Ark? Their history before Unity Day was hazy at best, the documents that still existed secreted by the Council. Or had Becca been someone that escaped floating and managed to become a leader? Clarke had thought suicides by Earth were mostly stories.  

There was no use wondering about it now, she resolved focusing her attention back to the notebook. She’d have to ask Lexa. She went on and it was clear there was a bundle of pages missing, the ripped edges still attached to the notebook.

> **_1500 days Post Armageddon_ **
> 
> _I wake to a hacking fit of cough this morning, and something wet sliding up the sides of my throat. I struggle to the edge of the bed just in time to retch a brackish, bloodied fluid onto the floor. There are thicker globs in it, and I fear that upon closer inspection I’ll find tidbits of my lungs among the blood._
> 
> _Needless to say I do not look._

Clarke flinched, then quickly leafed through the pages. The entries became more frequent, the writing wobbly and insecure from there onward.

> **_1560 days Post Armageddon_ **
> 
> _Today is much the same as all the ones I can’t keep track off, but despite my best efforts Heda must know because after I’ve emptied my stomach, I notice a glass vial filled with powdered herbs on my night table. I make myself the tea - foul and bitter but I gulp it down anyway and the heat soothes the pain in my chest- before I make my way to the morning meal I always share with her. We discuss plans for the winter, and the possibility that the settlements near Black Ridge will join our growing clan (which reminds me we should really find ourselves a good, strong name). She is sure they will - they need our protection._
> 
> _Conversation tapers out and when it resumes she doesn’t mention the cough, but gently inquires after my apprentice’s studies._

_Heda knows, as she always does._

The next page was dotted with dried blood.

> **_1670 day Post Armageddon_ **
> 
> _She is fighting against time and she knows, the task we’ve set upon us too much for one woman and one lifetime even if she wasn’t surrounded by so much violence. A few weeks ago, as we surveyed yet another battlefield turned charnel house, she told me with that small, distant smile of hers that one day the Earth and the Sky will meet, and then we will have peace._
> 
> _I can’t decide if she was serious or making jest._

Clarke’s heart burned, the words on the page dancing and merging into a tapestry of ink. They had peace now, or the closest thing to it. She shuddered to think how many sacrifices it was built on.

> **_1825 days Post Armageddon_ **
> 
> _The season’s changed and there’s a nasty rattle in my chest. Not too long now._

She was lost into the folds of history, the dropping temperature around her going unnoticed. The fire in the hearth had simmered down to glowing embers and her body was rigid from lack of sleep. Clarke wasn’t aware, as she kept scanning the page, eyes feverish.

> _**2002 days Post Armageddon** _
> 
> _Heda knows all._
> 
> _Heda did not see this coming._
> 
> _Heda is dead - I thought she’d be the one to bury me._
> 
> _The healers cannot make heads or tails of it - she was found in bed without a mark and they talk to me of natural causes! They wish me to believe that she simply stopped working, like a broken clock that fails to measure the passing of time._
> 
> _They talk of natural causes_ _but I see the long reaching hand of our enemies. I must be fast even if the Natblida are not as ready as I’d like - even while we’re finding more. It makes sense now why she would take aside young fertile, oft pregnant women at every settlement we discovered or conquered. She showed me the vials once and explained the specifics. I am but a simple man and did not really follow - this knowledge is best guarded when shrouded in mysticism anyway._
> 
> _My tasks concern the Flame, and I am content with that. No matter, my successor will have wards more numerous than I did_  

The Flame? Urgency rolled off the page in waves that seemed to scorch her fingers.

> **_2010 days Post Armageddon_ **
> 
> _My health is waning and there is no time. Bekka Pramheda has been given proper farewell and we need a new Commander._
> 
> _Below I describe the ritual of Ascension, the rekindling of the Flame inside a successor Commander. This journal is to be passed from Fleimkepa to Fleimkepa, its knowledge guarded, the same way we guard the Flame._

It was pages upon pages of surgical procedures, accompanied by colorful diagrams. The hand was different, more assured. Younger perhaps.

> **_2014 days Post Armageddon_ **
> 
> _I walk with a cane now. My legs can barely hold my weight. (and it isn’t much believe me) Moloch is here to help me attend the Conclave, but I wave him away irritably, telling him I do not wish to see the children I trained slaughter each other. I call him close and anoint him. He is Fleimkepa now, and I am a just a dying man. I tell him Zachary will make a fine apprentice._

The last entry was almost unreadable, the hand wielding the pen shaking so badly the one sentence was scattered all over. Clarke pressed her hand to the notebook with a pained sigh, Janduin’s own anguish a stark reflection of her own.

> **_2017 days Post Armageddon_ **
> 
> _The Flame is the Commander and the Commander is the Flame._

Clarke closed the journal gently, afraid the pages might become dust under a careless touch. Tiredness weighted her down like a sack of stones, and before her mind could force her into a night-long vigil with its questions, she slumped forward, asleep before her cheek touched the table’s surface, arms curled protectively around the diary and its secrets.

An insistent, piercing sound chipped away at her shadowy dreams, and she mumbled, eyes snapping over as her body began to turn off the side of the chair. A hand grasped the table for support, as Clarke’s eyes opened groggily. The sound came again, louder.

“ _Wanheda_ , wake up! _Wanheda_!”

She gave herself a shake, shoulders bucking to disloge beckoning sleep, glancing out the window squinty-eyed. Grey was barely stroking the edges of the night, like a timid lover short in experience and the clouds were a swirling maelstrom with plenty foreboding.

She became aware of the sticky wetness that seeped out of every pore, clothes a frigid armor she’d sweated through and turned into sodden rags.

“I am coming in _Wanheda_!” Doziness ceased to muff the voice and the words finally registered,

Angus.  

Clarke surged to complete wakefulness, body angling to hide the objects on the table.

“No!” It was a mewling sound - she wet her lips and tried again, “No, Angus!...I....” She fumbled for an excuse, “I am not presentable.”

His voice drifted into the room again, different and it was clear he had been worried.

“Your presence is required, _Wanheda_. Indra’s back.”

That had her in a mad rush to make ready. She banged the window shut, surprised the entire room wasn’t covered in frost and concealed the metal box and its contents, then changed her clothes hurriedly, engaging in a fight with their buttons that had her slavering in frustration. She didn’t even bother with her hair, it was a tangled lion’s mane that would take ages to tame and whatever Indra had to say she needed to hear it right away. She resigned herself to comb her fingers through it as she strode to the door, undoubtedly making it worse.

When the door was pulled open, almost violently, Angus gripped the hilt of the hunting knife at his hip to cover his fidgeting. He’d been a breath away from barging through the door - hinges and all - when Clarke had finally answered his calls.

He looked her over, searching for injuries anyway. She looked tired, more the epitome of grumpy sleepiness than anything else, shoulders slightly hunched, feet dragging against the stone floor. The circles around her eyes were so deep they looked like warpaint and she sported the worst case of bedhead he’d ever seen. She looked, for a lack of a better word, _slept in_.

She stepped into the corridor, not bothering to mumble a good morning, even if really it wasn’t even dawn yet, and simply motioned for him to lead.

He kept glancing at her as they walked, but her eyes, a midnight blue in the scant light of a few torches, were withdrawn and distant. Concern pulled her mouth into a grimace and he could almost hear the question that must have been roaring through her head. Why was Indra back and not Lexa? He wondered the same thing.

He saw her gaze refocus as she realized where they were going, and at the same time he knew he had made a mistake in his haste to settle things. Clarke faltered, halted and, one hand pressed to the wall for support, turned her gaze on him.

Clarke lifted her eyes, Angus’s face horror stricken at the realization they had come to at the same time. A hurricane spun to life in her chest; it split her bones and cracked her marrow and she had to lean against the wall for support as the world around her tilted and dimmed with tides of desperation. Struggling, wet rasps echoed down the empty hall and it repulsed her to know they emerged from a throat scraped raw by racing panic. Long moments rolled forth as she struggled to batten down her hatches, shaken by the inner storm that howled through her core.

“Clarke.” His hand on her shoulder was comforting, but there was a iota of her that was disgusted by his pity.

“It doesn’t matter.” She chewed the words and spit them out, and knew she looked resentful.

She had not visited her old room since the shooting. She had tried, alone and in company, with Lexa and without, yet frigid terror would always seize her, causing her body to short circuit. She and Nyko had pored over the matter for hours and the best solution they’d come up with had been to avoid that part of the tower. Mental trauma took time to mend, the healer had said, far more than physical damage did.

But now she’d run out of time, and the door to her old quarters loomed in front of her.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside her nightmare in the flesh.

The servants had cleaned the rooms, but abandonment was blatant everywhere she looked. Her stuff was gone, the furniture that had been damaged during the shootout had been replaced and the walls still bore the sign of scorches and bullet holes.

The maidens had been thorough, but had missed the faint traces of her blood, half concealed as they were by the edge of the carpet

She gulped and tore her eyes away, pushing her surroundings to the back of her mind.

Lexa’s most trusted General after Anya’s passing turned around to face them and Clarke moved to her, so that the growing light that filtered through the window illuminated them both.

Indra's usually stoic, immovable face was etched with new taut lines, dug into her skin by acidic fear.  


Clarke’s heartbeat was a rush of blood inside her ears, the call of distant war drums.

"What's going on, Indra?"  
  
Without replying, the General maneuvered a satchel Clarke hadn't noticed to sit around her front. What she did notice was how badly Indra's hands were shaking as she struggled with the clasps and buckles sealing it.  
  
Finally she managed to tug them loose, and Lexa's sash spilled onto her hands, the red a muted hue in the pearly light of earliest morning. There was something wrong with it, but it took a moment for Clarke's eyes to register the rents in the fabric and the black blood that patterned it in swirls.  
  
"The Commander," the woman took a shuddering half breath, a desperate intake of air similar to those of drowning men. Her eyes widened to their fullest showing the white, and her lips trembled.

“The Commander is dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter included way more math than I thought it would- I hope the timeline for Janduin's diary is somewhat sensible. I also hope you will not mind I took the liberty of incorporating the Flame plot this way - I like it as a means for the Commnaders to live on and share their experiences down the line (some sort of sentient storage bank?) But there will be no ALIE evil AI antagonist- so I got my fingers crossed you didn't hope for that. 
> 
> Also tried to explain about how the Natblidas came to be- albeit Janduin being a bit vague himself. 
> 
> And now I gotta run, before you grab a pitchfork for those last few lines (pssst remember the tags!) 
> 
> Ste yuj ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While dire news reaches Clarke in Polis, further north near the Azgeda border someone tries to survive...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back! Sorry if a tad late, but life kept me busy and I did have to rewrite a whole scene because a new original character wanted in! 
> 
> As usual kudos and comments are much appreciated! 
> 
> Again listened to some music while editing this chapter - you don't have to but here are the songs that helped me through: "The Greatest" by Sia ft. Kendrick Lamar, "War paint" by Kelly Clarkson, "Miss You" by James Hersey
> 
> Also sign language between **

The body floated downriver, pivoting slowly on its axis as the waters frothed by. It was pushed against some jutting rocks with a scraping of armor on stone, then the current deposited it, almost tenderly, in a small cove.

It lay there for a while, half out of the water and unmoving as day slowly turned to night. Then suddenly it came to life with violent shudders and wet retching and after emptying half the river on the sandy shore, Lexa pushed up on hands and knees and dragged herself out of the water, to flop onto her back a few meters away, dizzy with the effort.

She groaned softly, moving her limbs gingerly to check for injury. When it was clear that nothing was broken, she puffed out the breath she’d been holding in a sigh of quiet relief.

It was utterly dark around her, and she silently cursed the decidedly turn for the worse the weather had taken in the past couple of days. With the stars out, or even a sliver of moon, she’d have risked traveling at night, but the forest was pitch back and she only knew she was surrounded by trees because of their soft creaking in the breeze.

The wind picked up with a lonesome howl and she shivered under its touch. Icy fingers poked at her as if she was naked and she tottered to her feet with a soft moan of pain, and lurched forward. Nothing may be broken, but she felt a warm trickle of blood snake down her side, dripping along her ribs. She was lucky - the blade could have cut much deeper. The rest of her ached with bruises and scrapes, and her armor chafed at her skin, the clothing underneath reduced to sodden tatters.

Lexa knew she needed shelter and a place to dry off before setting off towards Polis. The river had carried her far enough from the Azgeda border, or so she hoped, still she dismissed the idea of a fire out in the open as she was.

Indra’s scouts were undoubtedly going to look for her come morning, if they weren’t already, but she was sure they were not the only ones. Indra had muttered about traps all the way to the border, and she hadn’t been far off.

Except it hadn’t been Roan’s hand behind it as the General had suspected.

The men that had sprung the ambush were a motley group of renegades. Some of them had born Azgeda’s typical face scarring, others were clearly common bandits, attracted by promises of wealth and pardon. All of them wore armbands of dark red, a color that none of the clans used.

The name they’d screamed as they descended on the _Trikru_ column had chilled her blood and angered her.

Ontari.

She shivered again, teeth chattering softly, and pushed thoughts of vengeance away for a better day. Her hands went to her belt and her shoulders sagged slightly when she felt the soft leather of her hunting knife beneath her fingers. The small leather pouch in which she carried her flint was just next to it and she smiled thinly. She’d lost her swords into the river, but finding she still had these objects in her possession was a great comfort.

Slowly, her steps careful and measured, she picked a path away from the river. The sound of rushing water gradually died away behind her as she pushed deeper into the trees, trailing her hands against trunks sticky with sap to keep her balance.

Walking dried her off somewhat, but the night was cold and brittle with the promise of frost come morning, and the little warmth her body could produce was leached away by the chill. She lost track of time, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, legs becoming more and more wooden as she progressed. Her hair hung in drenched strands, plastered to her skull and she halted a few times, twisting the wet curls between her fingers to try and get some of the water out.

Ever so slowly her eyes started to pick out details, first her own hands emerged out of the gloom, then the trees, closing in on all sides and the intricate lace of branches above her head, jet black against the greying sky.

Finally, in the false light of predawn, Lexa found a spot where she could rest. She would not have been able to walk much further anyway, her wound and the unplanned bath in the river taking their toll on her energies.

The small, crumbling cement building, half buried under a mound of earth and dead leaves was not much in the way of shelter, but it would offer some protection from the wind. Moss camouflaged the structure and bushes half hid the entrance, its door hanging bent and askew from a rusted hinge. She would probably have missed it, had she passed by scant minutes before.

Careful not to disturb the vegetation she crept inside, knife unsheathed and parting the darkness before her. There was enough light now for her shadow to precede her and she knew she’d have to lay low soon, before resuming her travels as the day began to dwindle.

On one hand, hiding during the brightest hours decreased the chances her own warriors would find her, but she had no doubt that enemies were also hard on her trail. The river might have carried her far enough from the place of the ambush, but alone and wounded as she was she could not risk being careless.

As she edged farther inside she discovered that someone else had used the place as a camping site, or perhaps several someones over the years. The corner farthest from the door was blackened with soot and a neat stack of dried twigs and thicker branches lay nearby.

The discovery gave her pause and she wondered what manner of people could chance to come by and what their intentions could be. This far from the capital, outcasts and bandits abounded despite her best efforts and her warbands were so busy defending the settlements that they could rarely mount effective sweeps. She resolved to come back to the area herself once Ontari and those who had sided with her were dealt with.

A tremor so vicious it made the knife drop from seizing fingers shook her, and Lexa discarded the notion of abandoning the shelter. She quickly recovered her only weapon, then gathered some wood and set about starting a small fire. It took her a few tries to get a spark, her hands so cold and clumsy she had lost all coordination, but finally the heap of wood caught with a pop and a curl of smoke and tongues of orange-gold began to feed on the dried twigs with eagerness.

It would take a sizeable bonfire to dry her completely, but Lexa contented herself with banishing part of the chill that had displaced the marrow inside her bones. She stripped off her armor and most of her clothes hurriedly, shuddering as she peeled the wet fabric off her skin. In the uncertain light of the fire she could take a better look at the shallow gash along her side. A crust of dried blood came away with her shirt, but as she prodded the wound with her finger she was relieved to find that the flesh around it was cool to her touch. She’d felt a flush of fever heat her brow and cheeks as she walked and for a moment had feared poison.

Whoever used the place as shelter had left a blanket and a satchel holding dried food tucked away behind the wood stack. Lexa shook the blanket out and cut a long strip from the bottom of it, to use as a makeshift bandage. The cloth was threadbare, but clean enough and it was better than letting her clothes and armor scrape at the cut once she dressed again. She threw the rest of the blanket around her shoulders and crouched close to the fire, soaking what warmth it provided.

Tugging the satchel closer, she rummaged inside. Her stomach gave a savage growl at the sight of dried meat and cheese. It wasn’t much true, but she was famished and it appeared like a succulent feast. Lexa began to chew on the meat methodically and scraped a bit of mould off the cheese before popping a piece into her mouth. The meat was hard and stringy and the cheese so tart it stung her tongue and burned her nose, but she felt some energy returning. It took her a conscious effort to not gorge herself on the food, and leave some for whoever else may need it. She regretted she would not have time to replenish the supplies, the thoughtfulness of a stranger probably saving her life.

A somewhat full belly brought on drowsiness, and she scuttled back to rest against the wall, letting her head fall forward slightly as she pulled the blanket tighter around herself. With conscious thought she slowed her breaths and relaxed her muscles. Her mind wandered off towards a state of half sleep that allowed her to remain aware of her surroundings while her body rested. It was something every warrior learned along with weapon training; life in the clans was harsh and often far from peaceful and one had to get sleep where they could. A fond smile, touched with sadness, curved Lexa’s lips as she remembered her games as a _seken_ , when she’d been so young she could barely reach Anya’s shoulder while standing on her tiptoes. Her First would slip into this trance-like state and Lexa would patiently wait for an opportunity to strike. Anya had promised to give her her best knife if she managed to land a hit when the older woman was resting.

She’d tried so hard, at campsites and from horseback, or right before a raid against another clan and never managed. Her fingers brushed the knife’s hilt, that same one she’d been promised and that Anya had given her on the day she’d left for Polis to join the _Natblida_. She wished, not for the first time, that Anya was still alive. She trusted Indra with her life, but Anya had been more than her General, she’d been her friend.

Her mind drifted on, hopping from thought to thought, never lingering for long as fatigue slowly drained away from her.limbs. She thought of Polis and compiled a mental list of things to do before winter really hit, then her mind was drawn to Clarke like a moth lured to the heart of a fire despite knowing its touch would turn it into ash.

Loneliness settled on her shoulders and she clutched at her own sides, imagining for a moment that it was Clarke’s arms around her, holding the cold at bay. She hoped she’d manage to reach Polis before word of her apparent demise spread, not only because of the political turmoil that would cause, but also (mainly if she was honest with herself) because of what it’d do to Clarke.

Forest green eyes snapped open and sharply refocused as a rustling noise broke into her consciousness. Lexa’s senses immediately leaped to high alert and she shifted, crouching low and rocking slightly on the balls of her feet. The sound came again, whisper quiet and careful, lacking the random trashing of an animal in the underbrush. Someone was trying to creep up to the shelter, but the soft popping of a twig and the friction of bushes being parted gave them away. Not a warrior perhaps, or someone still very young.

Lexa shed the blanket to allow herself better movement and gracefully glided along the wall, waiting with baited breath at the edge of the rectangle of light coming through the door. She didn’t have to wait long, a silhouette blocking the sun for a moment before a lithe figure stepped inside and within reach.

She sprung without a sound, one arm going around the intruder’s waist to pin their arms to their side, while she brought the weapon bearing hand against the underside of their throat. The newcomer trashed and managed to bury their elbow into her wounded side, but stilled as soon as the cold metal of the knife bit into their flesh, drawing a fat bead of blood.

Lexa forcefully pushed the newcomer away from herself, using their own momentum to trip them to the ground and, as soon as they reflexively twisted to prop up on their elbows, she was bearing down on them and tearing off the scarf obscuring their features.

She found herself nose to nose with a young girl, baby fat just beginning to leave her cheeks. Her eyes were of a blue she’d only seen on Clarke, blown wide by worry and a touch of wild wariness and she wore her hair into a multitude of small braids tied neatly at the nape of her neck. Her gaze was drawn downward to the girl’s mouth and she tried to keep her eyes from showing pity. A corner of her lips was puckered, her mouth twisted into a half snarl where a cartilaginous ridge grew, almost like a badly healed scar but in this case entirely natural. Something else tickled the corners of Lexa’s mind, but she couldn’t hold her thoughts still long enough to puzzle out what.

The kid was an Outcast, a pariah that should have been abandoned to the beasts of the forest at birth, but somehow had made it to the cusp of teenhood. Lexa knew of several Outcast settlements and always, at the onset of the bad season, sent a few warriors she could trust beyond doubt with supplies for those the clan had abandoned. She’d expressed her desire to bring them back into Trikru somehow to Titus, meeting strenuous opposition, but perhaps now things could begin to change.

The girl let out a mewling sound, then her lips moved to form a single word with difficulty.

“ _Heda_.” It was a mangled hiss, but combined with the pure awe now eating at the girl’s irises the meaning was clear as day. Lexa slowly eased off her, and the child scrambled up on her knees trembling, then bent forward, forehead almost touching the ground. How she’d recognized Lexa without the sash or warpaint and half naked as she was would be a question for a later time.

The Commander went to wipe the knife’s blade on the blanket and when the drops of blood caught the light she almost dropped the weapon for the second time, breath leaving her in a rush like it had been knocked out of her lungs.

The girl was _Natblida_ , just like her.

Weapon cleaned and sheathed, she pulled her clothes on, studying the girl as she buckled her armor back in place. She was still in the position she’d left her, abased on the floor and waiting on _Heda_ ’s pleasure. Lexa was sure she could have stood and walked away, and the girl would have stayed exactly as she was.

She cleared her throat.

“ _Gyon op gon Heda, gada_.” [rise for your Commander, girl]

The girl straightened immediately, gaze glued to the floor. Lexa saw her jaw clench, and she realized the child was doing her best to resist the urge to shift under her scrutiny.

“ _Chon yu bilaik_?” [what is your name?]

“I...called Nita.“ The girl shuddered slightly, a sheen of sweat dampening her brow and it was obvious that speaking caused her pain.

“You don’t have to talk, just nod or shake your head alright?” Lexa said gently, struggling to conceal her surprise that the girl knew english at all. She took a minute to have a closer look at her clothes, they were sturdy and clean, if a bit worn and the curved shaft of a small hornbow peeked out from behind Nita’s shoulder. At her waist was a quiver, bristling with goose-fletched arrows. Not a warrior then, but a hunter and it was clear to Lexa that she could take care of herself.

She gestured to the half empty satchel still near the wall where she had left it. “Was the food yours? I am sorry, I think I ate most of it.” Basically all of her stuff was at the bottom of the river or she would find something to repay the girl.

Nita must have caught onto the guilt lining her words because she shook her head frantically, clearly horrified that the Commander was apologizing to her. She seemed to think hard on something then her hands lifted gracefully, her fingers deftly weaving the unspoken battle-cant that Trikru warriors used when in need of stealth. While not including a full vocabulary, the sign language was flexible enough that it allowed people to add nuance with eyes and stance, and the timed flick of a wrist.

Nita signed so quickly that Lexa had trouble following, but soon enough words connected into phrases inside her head.

 _*I have caught a rabbit in my snares,*_ the girl eyes her critically, * _not much food in the bag. You must be hungry, Heda.*_

Lexa raised her hand to sign back, deciding that not speaking would probably put Nita more at ease and signalled that she was quite full. Except her stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly, giving her lie away.

The girl chortled, then blushed and averted her gaze, but Lexa gave a reassuring snort, smiling openly. There was definitely something she liked about the kid. She seemed to have a willful, strong spirit that she felt tied to somehow.

_*I guess you are right. I am a bit hungry.*_

Nita nodded entusiastically and pulled the rabbit from a small bag tied at her back. Lexa noted the animal had already been drained of blood and how quickly the girl prepared it and set it on a spit to put over the fire. The Commander gathered more wood from the dwindling stack and fed the flames, then they settled back on either side of the fire, waiting for the meat to cook.

Rich fat dripped from the small carcass, sizzling into the fire and the smell of roasted meat began to fill the small space, making her mouth water. Nita’s appearance had lessened Lexa’s worry over hostile forces being close by since _Azgeda_ and renegades loyal to Ontari wouldn’t hesitate to cut an Outcast down. She wrestled with the bitter thought that most _Trikru_ would too. When the meat was done she reached for the skewer and cut two portions, bending forward to hand the bigger one to Nita.

 _*I already ate,*_ she motioned when the girl looked ready to protest. As she inched closer Lexa’s eyes dropped to the collar of the girl’s shirt, which had come undone during their tussle. A small bone pendant hung by a leather thong around her throat, the ivory plaque delicately scrimshawed with a stylized fox.

She wore a similar one around her own neck.

Lexa’s hand moved of its own accord before she could stop herself from grabbing for it, mind reeling with the coincidence and the girl squeaked in panic, fist clutched protectively around the necklace as she stumbled back and off her crouch, falling onto her rump.

 _*I’m sorry,*_ Lexa’s fingers were shaking so badly she had trouble forming the silent words, _*it’s just...I...I…*_ She set her food carefully aside and undid her own shirt, showing Nita her own pendant, which the girl probably had failed to notice in the aftermath of their scuffle. The two bone jewels were identical, except Lexa’s was etched with a bear, rearing up on its hindlegs.   

Half understood details slotted into place as she spread her hands soothingly, showing Nita she meant no harm. The girl seemed mollified, the tension that had penciled crinkled lines around her eyes easing away.

With a bigger fire came more light and now Lexa could discern that Nita’s tresses were honey colored, her eyes slightly slanted, the first hints of what would be chiseled cheekbones in a year or two starting to show. Only the color of the eyes was different - from the father’s side Lexa supposed.

Her heart fluttered from her ribcage up to her throat and perched there like a fist sized fretting, little bird she couldn’t quite swallow back down.

 _*My mentor made this for me,”_ she tapped the plaque with a fingernail.

 _*My mother gave me mine.”_ Nita’s eyes darkened to the grey-blue of a lake in winter and she dipped her head for a moment. After a few minutes had trickled by, she signed again, _*she missed the agreed time. She isn’t coming, is she?*_ Neither of them had a need to ascertain they were talking about the same person. They just knew.

“No,” Lexa’s voice was a hoarse whisper, “Onya won’t be coming _strik fechasnacha_.” [little fox]

A sharp intake of breath and a tightening of fists greeted the news, but no tears she noted with a burst of pride. Nita just nodded once and looked at her solemnly.

 _*She used to call me that too. Father did as well.*_ The use of the past tense told Lexa the child had been on her own for some time.

“Eat,” she rasped perhaps more harshly than she intended, struggling to keep her emotions from overwhelming her. The girl nodded again, before beginning to munch on her food, often stopping to cast slanted looks in her direction.

Lexa could only pick at her meat, a veritable blizzard of emotions storming her insides. She felt the keenness of a loss she hadn’t had the time to mourn cut at her heart, a tempest of the coldest shards, threatening to encase her very soul in ice. And as she looked at the girl, in whom she now could see Anya so clearly, she ached at the thought that her closest friend, her confidant had kept the child a secret even from _her seken_ because of tradition.

She swore to herself that she’d change the custom and knew she could count on Clarke’s support even without asking.

 _*Will you come with me to Polis?*_ She found herself signing when she caught the girl’s eyes again.

“ _Sha_ .” the word flew assured and whole past broken lips, then Nita added with her hands, _*she taught me to be ready Heda. I am ready.*_

Nita’s eyes held the same quiet fire Anya’s had harbored and Lexa hoped her friend would approve of her decision. She also hoped she would be able to care for the kid as her First had always cared for her, sheltering and nurturing her without making her weak. She wondered briefly what Clarke would see in her… _their_ new ward. Perhaps caring for Anya’s daughter would help her lover shed some of the guilt that she dragged around with her.

Her heart settled some and they finished their meal in silence, getting used to each other’s presence. As they ate, some of the tension that had stiffened the line of Nita’s shoulders seemed to leave the girl, along with a bit of the amazement that had filled her eyes in the beginning. Her expression was one of guarded, tentative trust as if her final judgement on Lexa herself was still pending.

The rabbit was gone soon enough and Lexa licked the grease off her fingers, regretting there wasn’t some more. She wasn’t usually this hungry, but had to acknowledge the extraordinary circumstances. Once they were done with the food, she glanced outside, noting the position of the sun, half hidden behind billowing clouds, but still clearly descending towards dusk. The smell of rainwater turned the air into an heavy, almost tangible mass pressing against her skin and Lexa knew the humid scent heralded more rain, probably as early as that night judging by the clouds racing overhead. She motioned for Nita that they were going to leave and the girl simply set about straightening the small room they had camped in. Lexa collected the rabbit’s bones and walked outside, finding a spot where she could dig a small hole with ease and bury everything. When she made her way back, Nita was stuffing the bag of supplies and the blanket behind the now much smaller wood stack, while her eyes roamed every inch of the cement floor, scanning for leftover traces of their passage that needed to be erased. Anya’s hand in her training was evident, as she performed actions that had been drilled into Lexa’s very marrow by the same teacher.

Once it was clear that nothing of their presence remained, save for a handful of ashes where the fire had been, Lexa beckoned the girl to her and scooped up some of the soot, applying it like warpaint on Nita’s cheeks. She smeared her own face so that their skin wouldn’t stand out too much as darkness descended, then tilted her head curiously when she saw the utter shock on the girl’s face. Her mouth was moving silently and she had raised a hand to touch the dusting of ash on her face, as if she couldn’t quite believe it was there.

 _*Only warriors wear warpaint.”_ Her blue eyes were alight with unshed tears of disbelief.

_*You are my warrior now.*_

Lexa strode outside without a backward glance and heard Nita’s boots scuffle softly behind her, as the girl hurried to catch up. Then silence, as she naturally placed her feet where Lexa walked, soaking up the way the Commander had of making herself nothing more than a ghost among the trees.

In the light of day Lexa began to find her bearings and it wasn’t long before they entered a part of the woods she was more familiar with. There were several settlements within a few hours trek, but she pushed onward, unwilling to bring those that were hunting her down to descend on unsuspecting innocents.

A thick carpet of fallen leaves and pine needles muffled their steps, but she wished it was still summer when the underbrush was so overgrown it wasn’t possible to see ahead more than a few meters. The forest now felt much more open, as the majority of the trees in the area were oak or maple, the touch of fall giving them a mantle of red and gold with the deep black-green of pines a sharp contrast among them.

Lines of sight were much less hindered and as a result they proceeded in a half crouch, using fallen logs and thickets as cover. Lexa had her knife out and when she happened to glance back at Nita she noted Anya’s daughter had unslung her bow and nocked one arrow, fingers keeping the bowstring half-drawn.

They were about to crest a steep ridge when the wind sharply turned, blowing in their faces so hard it made their eyes water. It brought the sound of men, crashing through the woods right below them and Lexa froze, dropping to her belly behind a mossy rock. Nita crawled up silently and stopped at her shoulder, a frown halfway between worry and fear knitting her brows.

Lexa’s wounded side gave a painful twinge and she turned her head sharply to conceal a grimace, not wanting to worry her companion further. Nita, having unfortunately inherited her mother’s knack for reading the Commander like an open book, sensed the tensing of her body and the grunted intake of breath, placing a concerned hand on Lexa’s shoulder and squeezing gently, a question clear on her face.

Lexa shook her head, trying to assume a reassuring look, then nodded towards the top of the cliff a few meters away. They slithered up on their bellies until their gazes edged carefully over the edge.

The slope fell away sharply enough to require extreme care in going down and at the bottom the men they heard were clustered in a circle, clearly arguing in lowly hisses. There were six of them, and Lexa glimpsed more movement between some trees to their right. The bobbing tip of an upheld spear shone momentarily in the pallid sunlight and she could easily track the path of the lone sentinel. He was walking lazy circles around the grouped warriors and Lexa sneered contemptuously. They were being brash and careless, thinking that she was done, just because she was injured.

Evidently they didn’t know that a dogged prey was at its dangerous when wounded.

The ones she could see clearly wore the telltale red armband marking them as Ontari’s and their faces were scarred in the usual patterns of Azgeda. Typical then, that they would be so arrogant.

She glanced at Nita, deciding to turn their predicament into a lesson.

 _“What would you do?”_ She signed carefully, moving the bare minimum required to form the words.

The girl licked her lips, eyes darting from a man to the next, eyes hooded in thought before she answered.

 _*We could take them, but many. One has time to scream before we kill him.*_ Lexa nodded a fraction and she continued encouraged, _*wait to see where they head? Circle around?*_

She framed her thought within a question and Lexa blinked once in asset, pride brightening the green of her eyes to sea waters in summer.

A loud grunt drifted up to them from below and they turned their attention back to the arguing warriors, who clearly had split into two factions. One of them was wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. The others began to file away, leaving him to stand alone, staring viciously at their backs. He spit on the ground once before following and soon they had gathered their lookout and vanished out of sight.

Lexa waited and waited, counting her heartbeats while slowly birds and small animals resumed their treading around the clearing. Finally, when she was sure the warriors were gone she stood, and slowly began to pick her way down the other side of the slope. Nita followed quietly and they both paused to examine the men’s tracks. They clearly led back towards the river and angled North. The Commander calculated quickly, judging that the small warband would be back across the border by the next evening.

They walked away in the opposite direction, and Lexa set a ground eating pace, still taking care to leave as little a trail as possible. After a bit she stopped bothering to check - Nita was doing the job for both of them.

Their march continued uninterrupted, crossing over into boring, but Lexa pushed past the pain and exhaustion to keep her guard from slackening.She had learned during her years as Anya’s second and then as _Heda_ that the lulls between dangars were often far deadlier than the danger itself. All it took was a moment of distraction and Lexa knew she’d been Commander longer than others because so far she’d avoided complacency.

It got colder as the day dwindled, shadows numerous and far reaching, and Lexa began to shiver, even as her brow was coated in sweat. Small, icy shards pricked her skin and the woods fell back into the utmost quiet as fat, lazy snowflakes began to spiral down from a sky that had changed color to become granite grey and threatening.

Day fell away suddenly, darkness that had been creeping at the edges of their path pouncing forth to swallow the world around them. Lexa was almost sure the patrol they’d met was the one most out from the place of the ambush, but wouldn’t bet a fire and their lives on it.

Lexa knew exactly where she was however, and after juggling the decision for an instant, she reached behind her to grasp Nita by the hand and pull her along so they would not lose each other in the darkness.

The outpost was not that far, but night had completely fallen around them, like a curtain of the darkest velvet, by the time it loomed, like a shadow a shade darker than the rest, before them. The snow had kept on falling, now a slap against their skin rather than a caress and it made the ground slippery and treacherous.

Lexa felt drained and chilled to the bone, hot and cold by turns. She knew that Nita must not be faring that much better, the hand she was grabbing icy cold and shaking in her hold. The Commander fought with herself one last time, hovering at the door before she lifted a balled fist and knocked resolutely.

Almost immediately the door opened, light and warmth spilling out on the gathering snow, causing her night vision to flee and leave her blind for the space of a breath.

She blinked away the salt in her eyes and the figure silhouetted in the warm light of a fire resolved into a woman, taller than her and a handful of years older. She was beautiful, just as Clarke had described her, perhaps more and jealousy chased the shivers shaking Laxa away for a moment.

Eyes unfocused with sleep brightened and widened with the shock of recognition, and the woman stepped back hurriedly, letting them inside as she fully took in their state.

“An honor,” she said barely above a whisper, bowing deeply, “an honor, _Heda_. I’m…”

“Oh,” Lexa interrupted, voice dropping several degrees to match the plummeting temperature outside, “I know who you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you didn't mind a whole chapter of Lexa! But if you did feel free to yell at me in the comments.
> 
> I spy with my little eye....a cameo! ;) 
> 
> Nita was inspired by Lowiiie, my angst twin!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Struck by Indra's news, Clarke has to act fast and navigate a dangerous political landscape before news of the Commander's apparent demise shatter the Coalition. 
> 
> Meanwhile Lexa and Nita find a safe place to rest, but one haunted by the memory of another.
> 
> OR
> 
> Wanheda! Intrigue and murder! Also more Nita and jealous!Lexa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2017! (which hopefully won't be as sucky as last year) 
> 
> Sorry for the delay, but work was demanding and crazy and kept me away from my beloved writing. 
> 
> As usual kudos and comments are treasured and welcome. I hope you enjoy reading the new chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Indra’s words seemed to take form between them, crystallizing into a brutal reality none of them could ignore or deny.

Pain flared up his arm and Angus glanced down, noting how tightly he was gripping the hilt of the knife at his waist, the ribbing of the leather impressing a mark onto his palm. He forced his fingers to uncurl with herculean effort and turned his full attention back to the two women.

They were still facing each other, unmoving as if the news had hardened around them, encasing them like insects inside a drop of amber.

He tracked the sash’s progress as it fluttered to the ground in a red heap reminiscent of spilled blood against the greyish tiles and shuddered. He’d been one of the guards that had barreled inside at _Heda_ ’s shouts when Clarke was shot. There were only a few details of those frantic moments he remembered clearly, the rest lost in a shattered puzzle of panic and chaos. The first one was Lexa’s expression, the most stricken and uncomposed he’d ever seen her wear and the second had been the amount of blood. As he looked at Clarke, he marvelled, not for the first time, at the fact that she was still alive.

A flicker of movement caught his attention as the blonde seemed to sway slightly and he took an involuntary step forward, hands rising to catch her and cushion her body should she fall. The glance she cast his way froze him in place. It was hard and uncompromising, cold like the howling winds of winter and again he had the distinct impression of staring Death in the face. He began to pity Indra, and the words that left Clarke’s lips only strengthened the feeling that they were sharing space with a being far removed from them, moved beyond mortality by her own deeds.

Where he had expected grief and denial, perhaps a scream of anguish, there was callousness and calculation. He thought Clarke would demand immediate details of the Commander’s demise, but her question reminded him sharply that she was as much of a leader as _Heda_ had been.

As _Heda was_ , he corrected himself with a grimace, unwilling to come to terms with the possibilities the use of a past tense opened beneath his feet.

“Who saw you come into the City?” Clarke was asking, cool and clipped, her tone a clear indication she wouldn’t tolerate any waste of time.

Angus saw Indra’s jaw stiffen, her eyes narrow a fraction as she clearly balked at the command inherent in the girl’s words, the General way more used to giving orders than being ordered around.

“The guards at the gate of course,” She replied through a sneer, managing to sound like a parent explaining something obvious to a thick-headed child.

“Who’s on rotation?” Angus almost jumped when he realized the question was directed at him, then cleared his throat to hide the flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck and hurried to answer.

“ _Trikru_ and _Sankru_ .” He groaned inwardly as soon as the second name left his mouth. In a gesture of goodwill Lexa had decreed upon forming the Coalition that Polis was a city welcoming all clans and as such, guards from each tribe shared the honor of guarding its gates and streets with the _Trikru_ warriors.

“Our people won’t talk,” Indra grunted offended.

“No,” Clarke nodded, “but the Desert Clan will. They will speculate as to why you returned alone in the small hours of the morning and rumor will spread.”

Indra raised her voice in protest, “they won’t know the Commander is dead until we tell them.”

It was a flash, a rush of moving air and Clarke was bearing down on the General, practically nose to nose with the wiry woman. Her voice carried the chill of an echoing mausoleum and Angus shivered.

“The Commander isn’t dead,” she whispered, so quietly they both had to strain forward to hear. Indra scoffed, the sneer she had managed to keep to a minimum thus far, turning to a full blown leer.

“Girl,” she snapped, “you know noth-”

“Don’t _girl_ me,” Clarke silenced her brutally, “not when we are running out of time.” Again the blonde turned to Angus, and he involuntarily stiffened under her piercing blue stare, “the guard changes at sunrise yes?”

“ _Sha Wanheda_ ,”

They all turned to the window, the pearly hue of dawn creeping along the edges of the night and light increasing by the minute.

“We don’t have long,” Clarke mused softly, eyes glue to the horizon and a faraway cast to the line of her brow, “fetch Thany.”

Angus leaped to obey, glad to have an excuse to leave the women alone to stare each other down like rabid dogs on the brink of striking for the throat. He could almost feel Clarke’s gaze boring into his back, like an invisible hand urging him to act quickly.

Clarke watched him go, then focused her attention back to Indra.

“Now,” she began just as the General was opening her mouth, to complain no doubt, “tell me _exactly_ what happened.”

Indra’s jaws worked silently for a moment, as if she was chomping on thin air, her face a mask of affront at being spoken in such a way, but Clarke just waited, arms crossed at chest height and fingers tapping lightly against her wrist.

She was cold, having walked out of _Heda_ ’s apartments in such a hurry she had left her cloak behind, but she would be damned before showing Indra even the slightest trace of weakness.

It looked like the woman would glare her way without replying then, after one shaky breath (of sufferance probably) she recounted the events that had transpired in a few snarled sentences as if the words were forcibly torn away from her lips.

Clarke bent down and gathered Lexa’s sash, using the swathes  of crimson cloth to conceal the trembling of her hands. She could not hide from the sudden fear that stalked her heart, nor shake off the grave like chill that rushed down her spine. When her next words came forth without the faintest tremor, Clarke had to school her face to distant stillness.

“So,” the fabric sliding between her fingers was silken like Lexa’s hair and a faint trace of the Commander still lingered trapped with midnight blood and dirt between the warp and woof, “you have not found a body.”

Indra shrugged defeated, eyes downcast and hand going to her sword’s hilt, as if she could cut down her failure. “She was wounded and I saw her fall.”

“Into a river.”

“I saw her fall.” The General maintained stubbornly.

“She is the Commander,” Clarke rebutted drily, “I am sure she can swim.”

The General glared and began to pace around Clarke, spitting her next words out as if she thought they were engaged in a duel rather than arguing. And perhaps they were, the blonde admitted, to decide how the next few days would be shaped. The fate of the Coalition tethered on the edge of disaster - one wrong move and it would rip apart, tensions never quite quenched flaring to push the clans into a new war.

Clarke swore to herself that whatever had happened to Lexa, she would do everything in her power to preserve _Heda_ ’s legacy.

“I don’t doubt your words Indra,” she said soothingly, inclining her head respectfully, “regardless, dead or alive she needs to be found.”

“What difference does a body make? The Conclave will be called and a new Commander chosen.”

Clarke stood quietly for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek and carefully considering how much she could tell the General. The journal she had found had obviously only been meant for the _Fleimkepa_ and the Commanders, and what she had read was still sinking in. She wasn’t even sure she’d interpreted it correctly and the one person that could shed light on the matter, she was not yet ready to face.

She went with a white lie - something tactically sound that she knew Indra would get behind.

“My reasons are political. If Lexa’s dead,“ she grimaced and her stomach twitched unpleasantly, “and I am not conceding that she is, the new Commander needs the closure only a proper funeral pyre can give.”

Indra had stopped her pacing and was staring at her intently. “With Lexa’s fate unknown,” Clarke continued hurriedly, afraid the General would not manage to keep quiet for long, “people would question the legitimacy of the new Commander for personal gain.”

“ _Heda_ would be weak.” Indra looked horror-stricken.

Clarke simply nodded, allowing the General to make up her own mind. Before Indra could reveal more, the door opened and a woman, barely a handful of years older than Clarke but already battle scarred stepped inside, Angus a shadow behind her.

Thany’s sea green eyes swept the room even as the warrior bowed deeply to both of them, already garbed in neutral colors without clan markings. A quiver bristling with arrows hung at her waist and Clarke could spot the curve of a bow on her back. Her mouth was quirked in a half smile, as if she was constantly privy to some private joke and she was a few inches taller than Clarke, wiry-looking but obviously strong.

“Has Angus explained the matter?” Clarke inquired, eschewing pleasantries.

Thany turned serious, sensing the heavy mood. She threw one look to the sash Clarke was holding, but instead of voicing the question that flashed through her eyes she nodded.

“Four men are waiting below, _Wanheda_ ,” she looked at all of them in turn, “to help with the bodies.”

“Bodies?” Indra was the picture of confusion for a split second, then understanding dawned on her face and she strode forward, grabbing Clarke’s arm. “Are you _mad_? Killing the Sand Clan guards is an act of war!”

Clarke tore her arm free, and let loose the anger she had felt simmering in her gut. It was easier to be angry than afraid.

“We’re already at war or haven’t you noticed?” She snarled back, “worry about finding Lexa and let me worry about this.”

Indra gave her one last furious look before striding for the door, pushing roughly past Thany and Angus. She halted on the threshold and glanced back, mouth twisted in a grimace of disdain. “Only blood can come from this. And it will be on your hands.”

Clarke’s only reply was a sad, tired smile. She had spilled so much already, what difference would a bit more make?

* * *

 

Lexa took some time to look around the small outpost as Niylah shut the door behind them, sliding a heavy bar in place. The room was packed to the rafters with supplies - dried food, tools, pelts and even the occasional weapon. Nita stood stock still in the middle of the space, scarf still wound tightly around her lower face, wet clothes that hung limply from her frame simply forgotten.

She probably had never seen so many things gathered in one place and Lexa watched as her eyes brimmed with curiosity and knew the girl wanted nothing more than explore the seemingly endless piles of wares.

Niylah gathered some wood and threw it on the dying coals, flames immediately rearing up and brightening the room considerably.

“Come,” she took Nita by one shoulder gently and guided her to stand in front of the flames so that she could warm up. Before the girl could stop her, the trader removed her scarf and gasped softly.

Nita moved away in a flash and put Lexa between herself and Niylah, dropping to a half crouch as if she almost expected the woman would lash out at seeing her deformity. Perhaps people had in the past, Lexa thought as anger dispelled the lingering chill.

Niylah caught a spark the anger flashing through Lexa’s eyes and raised a hand soothingly.

“I apologize,” she murmured and smiled to the child in a way she hoped reassuring, “your arrival just set me a bit on edge to be honest.” It certainly wasn’t a lie, she mused, remembering how wildly her heart had jumped only a few minutes before when an insistent knocking had broken the silence of the night. For a moment she had thought it was raiders at the door - travellers had brought many a word of Ontari’s rebellion and her outpost was no more than a day or two from the border.

Then again, ill-willed people would have simply broken down her door and taken what they wanted. So Niylah had left the safety of her bed hesitantly and opened her home to whoever was so desperate to travel in the middle of a snowstorm, utterly unprepared for the people that had left the swirling storm of white to seek refuge with her.

She did not know how she felt, having the Commander under her humble roof. Honoured certainly, and yet she remembered another girl finding her way to the tradepost at the edge of night, haunted and desperate. Niylah gestured for them to get rid of the wet clothes and went to fetch some blankets, using the uncertain light of the fire to hide the grimace that suddenly tugged her lips downward.

She had heard the rumours, but could not forget what _Heda_ had done to Clarke. It didn't matter to Niylah that they were allies now, or as talk at the nearby village’s inn had it even lovers. Eyes, blue muted to grey by anguish filled her nights and although it was not her place to forgive, she would not forget that _Heda_ had almost destroyed the one she allegedly claimed to love.

It seemed the Outcast child had accepted her apology, for once she made her way back to them she had forgotten shyness and was eagerly crowding near the roaring hearth, hands extended, mere inches from the merry flames to absorb as much warmth as she could.

“Forgive me _Heda_ ,” Niylah measured her words carefully as she offered them the blankets. The kid took one enthusiastically and mouthed a polite thank you in her direction, but Lexa was slower and her expression guarded, "but what brings you in these parts?"

“We were hunting and chased prey further than I intended,” she shrugged, “I thought the first snows were still days off, but it appears that it is not the case.”

Niylah didn’t comment on the lack of bodyguards, or the fact that someone as experienced as the Commander was, would have never made such a rookie mistake, but refrained from pointing out the obvious and that was to say that Lexa was not telling her the entire truth, or any at all.

“Be as it may, I am sure you both can use something hot in your bellies. Perhaps some mulled wine for you _Heda_?” She glanced at the kid, staring between them intently, “and warm milk for the child?”

The girl huffed indignantly and a hand emerged from the blanket she had wrapped tightly around her wiry frame, fingers jabbing something in the air.

“I am sorry,” Niylah began to feel as if all she was doing that night was apologize, “is she saying something?”

“Nita is stating that she is not a child,” there was a faint trace of mirth in Lexa’s voice, but when she spoke to the girl, sternness lined every word, “still too young to drink alcohol. Warm milk will do.”

Nita pouted for a moment, then seemed to remember Niylah was watching her and her face became unreadable. The trader shook her head ruefully and began to fix their warm drinks, arranging wooden cups on a tray and adding a plate for food to go with them.

After a moment’s deliberation she added a cup for herself, and cut a generous slice off a wheel of cheese someone from the village had brought as part of a trade. She added bread, enriched with nuts and raisins and added a small jar of salt on the tray. She had no idea if Lexa _really_ knew who she was in relation to Clarke, but the Commander’s first words to her had sounded ominous.

Yet _Heda_ was honorable and Niylah knew she would respect the laws of hospitality. Better to break bread with her still, to remind her she was a guest under the trader’s roof.

She brought the tray to them and set it on a nearby table, then wrapped a wet cloth around one hand and removed the kettles  from the fire. She poured NIta’s milk first, adding a dollop of honey and, despite eyeing the kettle of mulled wine with desire she sipped it gratefully and licked her lips with pleasure.

“Be welcome,” Niylah handed Lexa a cup then broke off a bit of bread and complimented herself when the Commander was the one that reached for the salt.

“We thank you for your hospitality.” As soon as the word were out of Heda’s mouth the atmosphere thawed a little and they drank and ate in companionable silence. Nita was the first to be done, and licking cheese crumbs off her fingers, she stood and went off to peek at the shelves in the store.

“I meant to ask,” Lexa put the empty cup back on the tray, “have you noticed anything...troubling these past few days?” She made a show of following Nita’s progress around the room, but kept an unobtrusive watch on the trader out of the corner of her eye.

She was almost sure the renegades they had crossed paths with on their way here were the ones deepest in her lands, but, because of her occupation, Niylah was in a position to hear many things.

“Troubling?” The trader stared pensively at the wine still half-filling her cup, “winter is always a troubling time. I heard wolves roam the woods, seems they are giving some trouble to our shepherds.”

“Mmmh…” Nita, who had been good at keeping her hands to herself so far, had reached out and picked up a shiny object. She was in the corner of the room where shadows gathered the most numerous and Lexa couldn’t quite discern what had piqued the girl’s interest, “what about wolves in human form?”

“You mean to say the rebels, _Heda_?” Niylah shivered and shook her head, “we heard only rumors so far, but if you listen to the people at the inn the woods are crawling with them. I doubt it,” she chuckled drily, “so far I wasn’t bothered.”

Lexa felt relief, even if she let none show on her face. Before she could inquire about someone in the settlement willing to part with a horse, Nita came back and insistently tugged at her sleeve.

She showed Lexa what she had found and the Commander recognized it instantly. It was one of the bracelets the Hundred had been sent to the ground with, and according to Clarke had been used to track the yongons vitals from the people still in the sky. Her love had sketched a drawing of it out for her, among the ones she had asked her to draw to truly understand how it had been to live among the stars.

Nita looked at her pleadingly and it was clear, even if the girl didn’t really ask, that she was fascinated and would have liked to have it.

Lexa was about to ask the price for it, but Niylah gave a shake of the head and snatched it away almost roughly, looking abashed at her own actions.

“It isn’t for sale,” the trader’s voice was trembling, “I have other trinkets…” Lexa saw her draw a shaky breath, trying to steady herself, “you have lovely blue eyes,” she smiled at Nita tremulously, “I have a bracelet set with blue stones somewhere… let me find it for you.” She stood and walked off before the Commander could get a word in.

Nita looked at the trader clearly puzzled, then signed.

* _She upset._ *

Lexa patted her arm soothingly. * _You did nothing wrong. I just think that bracelet reminds her of someone._ *

She felt jealousy pulse through her, beating in time with the aching scrape at her side, and she pressed her lips into a thin line, turning her face away for a moment to hide her internal turmoil. Lexa knew she had no reason for it, that Clarke had been Niylah’s for the fleeting space of a night and that at the time they had been as far removed from lovers as they could possibly be, but her heart still ached at the thought of Clarke with another.

Niylah was back, carrying a bracelet made of rawhide strings, light blue stones that had been drilled through threaded in the strings to embellish it.

Even in the low light Lexa could see that the woman had been right, the stones’ color matched Nita’s eyes almost perfectly. Niylah motioned for the girl to offer her a wrist and fastened it around it with a smile. She seemed to have recovered her composure.

“No payment is necessary.” She waved off Nita’s signed protests and pointed to a rickety stairwell that obviously led to sleeping quarters above.

“I would be glad to offer you my bed.”

“As you offered it to another?” The stingy remark flew off her lips before Lexa could stop it and Niylah reeled as if slapped.

“ _Heda_...I…”

They were interrupted by Nita’s delighted squeal. Ignoring the adults, the girl had climbed the stair and obviously discovered how comfortable Niylah’s bed must be.

Lexa placed a hand on the trader’s arm and inclined her head demurely, wishing she could take back words dictated by stupid jealousy, knowing she could only apologize and hope that the woman would be more forgiving than she would be if their positions were reversed.

“I spoke out of turn, Niylah,” it was the first time Lexa had addressed her by name and the merchant’s eyes widened slightly, “it seems someone has already claimed the bed anyway.”

They shared a strained smile then joined Nita upstairs and Niylah prepared pallets for the two of them while the girl bounced happily around her bed. She tried to shake off the sting of Lexa’s words, not doubting for a moment she would have sought to hurt the woman the same way if Clarke was still hers.

It was foolish to wish for something like that, but she couldn’t help it, or completely banish the envy she felt for the Commander.

Once the bedding was arranged she watched _Heda_ settle down gingerly, and unsuccessfully  trying to conceal a grimace.

“You are hurt.” Niylah stated, kneeling next to her.

Lexa tried to deflect, but the trader saw the stiffness in her movements and the way she tried not to bump too much into her own side. Finally the Commander quit her protests and allowed Niylah to tend her wound. It was a shallow gash along the ribs, and the trader could distinguish an injury caused by a blade - her father had taken up arms more than once after all - but considering the unlikely hunting story she thought it better not to ask.

When Lexa thanked her, the trader sneered and leaned forward to whisper in Heda’s ear so that the child would not hear.

“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for _her_.” Lexa didn’t reply, but Niylah found the look that crossed the brunette’s face gave her no satisfaction. Perhaps they had both been needlessly cruel to the other.

Nita had quieted down, and when the trader looked towards the bed she saw the girl had fallen prey to sleep and passed out sprawled atop the furs. Niylah covered her up gently, careful not to wake her, then blew the few candles that still burned out and settled down herself.

Sleep was a long time coming and when it finally claimed her it had the feeling of an uneasy truce.

* * *

 

The market’s square was quiet and empty, the stalls still shuttered for the night, wares stored away from the grasp of stealing fingers. Thany frowned upwards, mentally counting the minutes until the guard would shift. The sun was still hidden below the horizon, but shadows had thinned and paled considerably, and she had to keep to the edge of the plaza to sneak to the western gate, hugging the walls and the wooden stalls to keep out of sight. The gate’s massive oaken doors were still shut tight, but undoubtedly people that had business within the walls were already gathering outside. She would have to strike as the Sand men made their way to the part of the city assigned to their delegation.

Angus’ instructions had been clear. Leave no traces and no witnesses. That ruled out arrows and blades, but Thany preferred the quiet way anyway. She’d been the best tracker in her village and once a Reaper attack had wiped the small settlement out, she had been recruited as a scout for the Commander and later as an assassin.

She patted the small pouch at her belt where she carried her garrotte, as if to reassure herself her tools were still in place, then darted behind a stall to a hiding spot that afforded her a good view of the gates.

The men that had come with her were all part of Wanheda’s personal guard as she was, and all had removed the bright blue armbands that marked them as Clarke’s, hiding _Trikru’s_ tattoos behind scarves or under hoods.

One of them signalled her discreetly from across the road - the guard was changing. Soon enough two _Sankru_ warriors, engaged in deep conversation passed by her hiding spot and Thany followed as soon as they rounded a corner. She knew they would report what they had seen to their captain and in turn word of Indra’s return would reach their Ambassador. She would act the same way if something out of the ordinary happened during one of her own guard shifts

It was a stroke of luck then, she thought as she shadowed them into a warren of narrow alleys and dead ends, that the lodgings assigned to the _Sankru_ delegation were in the oldest part of the city. It was a labyrinth of crumbling buildings and mouldy shacks and night still reigned here, the roads so narrow the sun only touched them during the longest days of summer.

“ _Hod op_ ,” one of the warriors halted and Thany froze in the shadows of a doorway, pressing herself against the wall, holding her breath as her hand moved to the knife at her waist. _Wanheda_ had said no traces, but blood could always be washed away if it came to that.

“What is it? We need to report in and I want my bed.” The second one retraced his steps and gave his compatriot an annoyed look.

“I need to take a leak.” Thany relaxed slightly as the warrior walked to a wall and began to tug at the laces of his breeches. The other one snorted and turned away, “I don’t need to see your prick any more times than I already have,” he announced, striding off, “I’ll wait for you at the garrison.”

Pigeons cooed and fluttered overhead as the man’s footsteps echoed off and Thany caught a glimpse of one of the Trikru warriors, hunting him from the rooftops. These idiots were making it even easier than she would have thought, but she was no fool - their luck could run out any moment.

She waited until the sound of the piss pattering against the wall covered the scuffling of her boots on the road’s cracked stones, then moved behind the remaining warrior, garrotte already pulled taut between clenched fists.

Thany struck with one fluid motion, the rope going around his neck and cutting into his windpipe. He gave a wet gurgle and tried to twist around, hands clawing at her own in an attempt to dislodge her. He was bigger and would have given her trouble in a fair fight, but Thany hadn’t planned on being fair. She tightened the garrotte and the man’s wheezing became desperate as he struggled to fill his lungs and failed. He staggered backwards and smashed them both against a nearby wall in one last attempt to free himself, but she held onto him in the parody of an embrace despite the growing pain in her back and finally he fell to his knees, arms slumping nerveless to his sides.

Thany’s rope around his neck was the only thing keeping him from falling onto his face, and she held him upright, muscles tensing with the effort until the rattling in his chest was silenced completely and then more, counting mentally until she was sure he would not breathe anymore.

As soon as she let him go he crumpled lifelessly to the ground and one of her men appeared to drag the corpse out of sight.

“You could have helped Conri,” she grumbled, touching her bruised shoulder gingerly and grimacing.

“You were doing just fine.” He grinned back, as wolf-like as his namesake.

She didn’t swallow his bait. They had no time for banter. “The other?”

“Dead as this one,” he huffed in reply, grabbing the _Sankru_ man around his waist to better carry him, “although not quite as heavy.”

Thany snorted and hurried to help him, just as the city began to truly wake around them. A while later, as the market stalls began to open, merchants crying their wares as loudly as they could to entice the first buyers of the day, a few hooded figures slid back into the crowd pressing in from the reopened gates.

Of the guards that had left those gates not an hour before there was no trace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spot another cameo role! 
> 
> The story is already a gift for Jude81 but Thany is based off her, my wonderful Twin and writer extraordinaire with whom I have the honor and pleasure to collab


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke has to come to terms with the possible fallouts of her actions, and face some demons. Lexa is a step closer to Polis and her lover's arms...but things are never as easy as walking from one place to another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am with another chapter! I do spot another little cameo, but who knows, we may see more of this Original Character yet! For my dear friend and co-author extraordinaire Gillytweed - their cameo is the Natblida Lysen (G I want my wounds tended by Clarke too!)
> 
> As usual your feedback means a lot to me! Kudos and comments are always welcome!

“Is it done?” 

Clarke asked the question as soon as she heard the door to  _ Heda _ ’s rooms open. She didn’t need to turn to know it was Angus, since she’d asked the guards posted outside to not let anyone else through. Clarke had wanted time alone to think about her actions, and besides it would not do for people to see the great Wanheda pace back and forth like a caged wolf, fretting and wringing her hands over things she could not control. The blonde had not been surprised at being capable of ordering someone’s death so easily, but the act had taken her back to the dark hours under the Mountain, a time she had hoped to never revisit, save perhaps in nightmares. 

“ _ Sha _ . Thany and the others just came back.” 

Clarke simply nodded, eyes glued to the view outside the window - the city beginning to wake, but more importantly the wilderness beyond. She just knew that Lexa was out there,  _ somewhere _ .

“Indra?” She asked when the silence between them had stretched to the point of becoming painful. 

Angus grunted sourly. “We sent her back out with reinforcements under the cover of a supply train. Several were leaving to bring food and medicine to the outer settlements before the Long Frost comes. It didn’t require much effort to rustle up a few extra wagons.”

“The men you sent with her?” Once Indra had stormed off, in evident disagreement with Clarke’s plan for the guards, she had asked Angus to go after her and conceal her departure. Should the General wander around in a huff and be seen by someone in town, their efforts would be vain. 

“Good trackers all of them. I couldn’t send too many though,” he grunted again and his voice lowered to a growl, “Heda took plenty of guards up North and if the situation isn’t resolved soon…” he paused, evidently trying to measure his words, “some other clan may try something.” 

That had Clarke turn, eyebrows raised.

“You think they will?”

“Masking Indra’s return has bought you a week perhaps, before some of the Ambassadors begin to question the length of Heda’s absence. Rumors will eventually do the rounds no matter what you do.” He spread his hands, as if to underline neither of them could prevent that from happening. 

“The least loyal may see as an opportunity to weaken Lexa’s authority here while she is absent.  _ You  _ are that authority  _ Wanheda _ . Some may try to strike you down.”

“Even if it meant incurring her wrath?” 

“If they believed she is dead…” he swallowed and looked away for a moment before continuing, “they may very well take the chance. Some of the clans don’t like you or Skaikru at all.” He patted his sword’s hilt, “I will double the guards, just in case.”

“Sankru…” Clarke mused, the nervousness she had managed to hide in his presence seeping through and causing her to shift her feet. She loathed to admit that Indra had been right, and that killing the Sand Clan’s warrior could very well lead to another war. Angus seemed to read her mind, because he stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Not only them. The Plains and Greystone clans also. They are the furthest away from Polis’ influence and only joined Lexa’s Coalition because not doing so would have meant annihilation,” she felt his fingers squeeze gently and took a little comfort from his strength. “It is good that you question yourself Wanheda, but the truth is that these clans would seize the smallest opportunity. Sankru can speculate, but there is no proof that your hand is behind the assassinations.” 

He took his hand away and gestured to the empty air around them, “their guards simply... _ vanished _ . Moving against you without proof would cause other clans to fall behind you in support. Sankru is not much liked at all.”

“So we carry on as usual and wait.” She had never liked to wait, and at times it seemed she had done nothing but wait since her people had come to the ground. Wait for dawn to come, wait for an attack, wait to march on the Mountain.

“I hate it too,” he offered, proving again that he could easily follow her thoughts, like a tracker seeking prey deep in the woods, “but you learn to live with it. The Natblida need you Wanheda. And so does the Coalition.” 

Clarke nodded, then ushered him out of her chambers so she could change into the armor Lexa had her artisans craft for her. She wouldn’t have bothered unless there was a formal meeting, but she and Angus had planned to take the Natblida out in the woods around the city to hunt. As her Chief Guard had put it, one never had enough food when faced with the Long Frost. Clarke prepared quickly, fixing the armor in place with practiced motions. She remembered the day Lexa had gifted it to her fondly, relishing the memory of her lover’s fingers brushing against her body as the Commander tightened the armor straps for the first time. The images flew across her mind, edged with sadness and worry, and Clarke finished dressing with a sigh, before taking a quick walk around the room, to make sure that both the  _ Fleimkepa _ ’s journal and the sash that Indra had brought back were properly concealed.

She lit a new candle, leaving it next to the shut window and cursed the tears that for a moment threatened to spill down her cheeks. She knew that such a small flame wouldn’t help guide Lexa home to her faster, yet couldn’t help but find reassurance in the simple gesture. 

Clarke tore herself away from the window with an effort, before her eyes had time to linger on the snow-capped mountains far to the North. She could not allow herself to be weak, too much responsibility resting on her shoulders for her to crumble. 

She would be strong and wait, and hate every single minute of it. 

* * *

 

As it turned out, a trip to the nearby village to find a horse had not been necessary. 

Niylah had parted more than willingly with the sturdy mare that occupied the small stable at the back of the trading post. She had waved away Lexa’s promises of payment, providing them with a well-oiled saddle, blankets and supplies that would last them until they reached Polis. 

As they left the outpost behind, taking a seldom beaten path that would wind around the village, Lexa thought she’d seen more than a little relief on the trader’s face while she waved them goodbye. She could not find it in herself to fault Niylah for it, not after their heated exchange before sleep. She would make sure to send a gift regardless, nothing that would humiliate the trader by making her feel in debt with her Heda, but an offer of peace if not a request for forgiveness. 

Nita was taking the first turn atop the horse, and the girl’s utter stillness told Lexa she still wasn’t happy about the arrangement. They could ride together, but it would tire the mare needlessly and, even though she hoped to be right about the rebel bands they may need to flee at a moment’s notice. It made no sense to burden the horse before they really had to, but Nita had argued that Heda should ride, since she was injured. 

She had refused to back down until Lexa had sternly reminded her that a good soldier was supposed to do everything their Heda asked of them. That had quelled resistance, but she knew that behind a pretence of boredom the girl was fiercely sulking. Nita wasn’t good at hiding the sullen glint of her eyes, the fierce light inside them betraying her real emotions in the same way it had always given the child’s mother away.

Lexa sighed, the usual gaping loss she felt whenever thoughts of Anya crossed her mind aching inside her chest. It was a hollowed out part of her that not even Clarke’s love could fill, but perhaps having Nita in Polis would dull the sharp edges of her grief. She truly hoped that Anya would have wanted this for her child, and vowed to be as dutiful a guardian as any Fos. Traditionally Heda never took a Seken, as the sheer status the Commander’s second would acquire on position alone would be seen as favoritism and Lexa tended to agree. But perhaps Angus or another of Clarke’s guards would be willing to consider it, the fact that they had accepted Wanheda as one of their own despite cultural differences a sure sign of open mindedness.  

But that was a problem for a different day, Lexa mused, peering up at the sky.

To her relief the snow had stopped falling for the time being and its accumulation on the ground was not enough to hinder them yet. Stretches of terse blue were visible among the drifting clouds, white and fluffy now that they had disgorged their payload.  

The Commander however wasn’t fooled. 

Frosty wind twisted and howled among the bare trees, causing them to shake and fill the woods with eerie moans and creaks. As it was the case at the beginning of every winter season, long faded scars twinged and oft broken bones ached, and she knew that more snow would come and fall for weeks once the Long Frost arrived in earnest. 

Lexa willed herself to move faster, despite the persistent pain scraping along her side. They could be back in Polis in two days if the weather held, and she intended to cover as much ground as possible before nightfall made it to dangerous to continue. 

They set a steady, ground-eating pace, Lexa leading the horse at an easy jog while Nita rode, stopping to switch at regular intervals. The Commander would never admit it, but she looked forward to her turns on the mare, her wound paining her more than she had anticipated. 

A glimpse of the village, nestled in the valley below them, was the only sign of civilization they encountered after leaving the outpost. Niylah had suggested that Lexa made herself known to the village chief and demand an escort, but the Commander had decided against it. She knew Elder Hadnan well, and he would insist on sending most of his spears with her, but that would leave the small settlement unprotected. 

Ontari’s rebels may decide to double back and take their frustration at not being able to track her out on the villagers. Besides Niylah had mentioned wolves and while winter was barely touching the land, Lexa knew the cold season made the beasts more brazen. 

They stopped briefly around midday to feed the horse and share a quick lunch of flatbread and blue-veined cheese, crouching close to each other, among a tight copse of firs to shield their bodies from the gusts of freezing air. The gale had brought darker clouds down from the North and the light was the dim one of late afternoon, giving a grey hue to everything. 

Neither of them was in the mood for talking, and after licking the last crumbs of bread from her fingers, Lexa stood and stretched, then motioned Nita to climb back on the mare. 

Much of their afternoon was spent the same way, riding and walking in turns and even though Lexa had to slow down as the snow beneath her feet turned to ice with the descending temperature, they still covered more than 20 miles. 

As evening shadows made their going more difficult, she began to look around for a place where they could camp. These woods were known to her from her days as Anya’s Seken and when a familiar rock formation came into view up ahead, she veered off to the right, towards a place she’d used as camp before. 

It was a half crumbled ruin from a time long past, and the people that lived in the area believed it haunted. Lexa knew this was not the case, but the place’s reputation would ensure they would not be disturbed. And there was a spring right on their path, where they could fill their canteens and gather water for tea.

Suddenly the silence became absolute, and the Commander stopped so abruptly that the mare gave a surprised snort and bumped her nose against Lexa’s shoulder. 

Her eyes narrowed as she scanned to woods, the deepening darkness making it hard to see more than a hundred paces in each direction. She felt Nita shift in the saddle behind her, and didn’t need to check to know that the girl had raised her bow and nocked an arrow. 

Something had scared the forest’s animals away. 

The horse snorted again, then gave a small whinny, tossing her head so hard she almost ripped the lead out of Lexa’s hand. 

A low, menacing growl filled the air around them, and a slate grey shadow streaked across the path. It was enough to send the horse rearing, and Lexa was almost lifted off her feet, before the mare’s hooves jarringly dropped back to the ground.

The Commander fought to keep the animal under control, then when the mare finally stood still, she scrambled up behind Nita and gathered the reins. 

More growls came from the darkness at their backs, and the horse started forward without prompting. Lexa tried to keep the mare to a quick canter, but the animal fought her for control, and soon they were dashing down the snow covered path, the spot she had intended to rest at flashing by. 

All she and Nita could do was hold on for dear life, as branches slapped their faces and snatched at their cloaks, threatening to unseat them. Lexa didn’t dare look back, but she could hear the wolf pack giving chase behind them, and it wasn’t ordinary wolves at all.

One of the beasts had managed to leap up beside them, jaws snapping shut inches from one of the horse’s hindquarters and she wished she hadn’t taken such a close look. It was a massive beast, a relentless hunter built for the kill, but mutated to the point it resembled more a monster than a wolf. It had two heads and two tails, and one of its snouts was so crammed with wicked teeth that the animal could not shut it all the way. 

It snarled at them, eyes burning red, then threw a muzzle to the sky and let loose a savage howl, promptly answered by a chorus all around them. The mare shook between Lexa’s legs, and the foam from her mouth sprayed back across her flanks. The Commander didn’t know how long the horse could keep going that way and, anticipating that they would have to fight, she bared the sword Niylah had given her. 

A hiss cut through the Pack’s slavering growls, and the wolf that had been flanking them stumbled and fell head over heels, a burning arrow stuck into its side. More darts followed and whenever they struck flesh, the wolves’ snarls turned into yelps of pain. 

The light of burning torches pushed back the night as riders closed in among the beasts, sword and axes flashing as they descended to cut the wolves down. Lexa sawed the reins viciously, bringing the sword around into a tight arc, to stop one of the beasts from leaping atop a rider’s shoulders. 

The clash of steel and claws lasted mere seconds, before the pack melted back into the darkness to seek easier prey, and Lexa lowered her blade a fraction, as their rescuers formed a ring around her flagging horse. 

“Heda.” 

One of the men dismounted and walked slowly up to the mare’s side, eyeing Nita’s half-drawn bow with a wary eye. Lexa squeezed the girl’s thigh with her free hand and bent forward to whisper in her ear.

“These are my men. It’s alright.” 

She had recognized Linus’ gravelly voice and, as a few torchbearers moved forward to afford them some light, she peered down into his face and nodded reassuringly. His features were contorted into a mix of worry and awe and Lexa thanked the stars that he and the ones that had seen her fall into the river had shown enough faith to keep looking for her, even though they must have feared to find her dead, or not at all. 

Nita lowered her bow, then laid it across the saddle, but she pressed back into Lexa as Linus reached up to help her down the mare. 

“She isn’t used to strangers,” the Commander explained when she saw his puzzled look. The man simply nodded and stepped back, letting the girl drop off the saddle by herself. 

Lexa followed, but as soon as her feet touched the ground she swayed and had to grab the saddle for support, cursing softly. She struggled to stop herself from hunching over in pain, and hid a grimace against the mare’s flank, but Linus had seen her falter and she heard him issue a string of orders to the warriors around them. 

“Je’saris isn’t much of a healer, but she knows a little about field medicine,” he whispered, the question clear in his eyes and when Lexa nodded, he beckoned the warrior over. They followed him as he made way through the trees, Nita walking so close behind Heda that she was stepping on the Commander’s shadow. 

The warriors around them quickly organized a camp and erected a small tent for her. Lexa pushed Nita inside first, then motioned for Je’saris to enter as well. 

The woman gave a curious look to Nita, who had pulled her scarf so high over her face that only her eyes were visible under her hood, but she refrained from commenting. Lexa was relieved as she didn’t think she would have the energy to explain. 

Obeying Je’saris instructions, Lexa removed her cloak and unbuckled the chest piece of her armor, allowing the warrior to lift her shirt and strip away the makeshift bandages. Flakes of dried blood came away with the cloth, and she grimaces as they pulled at her chafed skin. Je’saris used water from her canteen to clean the cut, then applied a layer of salve over it, so cold it sent Lexa’s teeth chattering. 

Once done, Je’saris bowed and left with a murmured  _ Heda _ , Linus immediately taking her place. 

“Brief me.” The Commander ordered, tugging her shirt down.

He cleared his throat, eyes purposefully averted while she redressed.

“We had been looking for you since the ambush. Indra went to Polis...she...we... “ he stammered and his hands clenched into fists, “she’d ordered us to keep looking but she thought…” 

“Speak plainly, Linus.”

“She believed you couldn’t survive such a fall..none of us did even though we all hoped as we searched.  _ Wanheda _ had to be informed.”

The sliver of lead that had settled into her stomach grew to a fist-sized weight and Lexa drew a shaky breath. The implications of Linus’ words made Lexa want to vomit.

Oh, Clarke…

* * *

It was late afternoon when Angus called a halt to the hunt by bringing a copper banded warhorn to his lips and blowing three shorts burst to signal the hunting parties. Clarke and Aden who had teamed up with him, took the chance to rest while they waited for the rest of the Natblida and Trikru warriors to regroup. 

Between the three of them they had brought down two deers and a few rabbits, leaving them for the gatherers that followed a few hundred paces back. Clarke had been delighted to find out she was much better with the bow than the quarterstaff, landing the killing shot on one of the deers and at least three of the rabbits. 

Angus had explained that nothing of the carcasses would be wasted, and that the meat would be smoked and salted then taken to the communal supplies’ stores so that the people that were too old to hunt, or those families whose hunters had been lost to war or ripas wouldn’t starve during the long winter. 

Clarke hated that the Mountain still affected people’s lives, but she knew that the wickedness of the Maunon would still haunt the clans for at least a generation. Another of those things she would just have to wait on to see change, she thought wryly.

A piercing scream broke the quiet, causing a couple of nearby pheasants to take to the air in a flurry of panicked wings. 

Before Angus or Aden could react, Clarke was on her feet, racing headlong towards the noise. The voice belonged to someone young, and she feared that one of the Natblida had been hurt. 

She burst into a small clearing and skidded to a stop, almost falling back onto her ass as her feet found a patch of slippery moss. Aden and Angus crashed through the bushes next to her and the three of them stared down the irregular hole that had appeared on the forest’s floor.

“Help!” A voice called from below, followed by a groan of pain. 

Clarke knelt at the edge of the hole to see better, and was met with the wide-eyed gaze of one of the children, who was sprawled at the bottom. 

Pointy wooden poles jutted upwards, but in a stroke of luck the kid had been pierced by just one at the end of the fall. 

“Stay still…” she trailed off, glancing towards Aden, failing to remember the Natblida’s name in the heat of the moment. 

“Lysen.” he whispered helpfully. Clarke could see the worry on his face, but was impressed at the way he just waited for her directions without succumbing to panic. 

“Ok, Lysen!” She turned her attention back to the kid at the bottom of the hole, “hold on we gonna get you out!” 

“Sha, Wanheda,” bright eyes full of intelligence blinked up at her and the Initiate nodded bravely. Clarke judged that Aden and Lysen were perhaps the oldest among the Natblida, yet they were barely teens. If she had fallen down a hole and a jagged piece of wood was piercing her thigh she would be thrashing around in blind fear and probably making it worse.  

“Is this a bear trap?” She asked Angus, as more men emerged from the forest around them.

“No,” the warrior spit on the ground in distaste, “this is older. From when the clans were still at war I think,” he pointed to a gnarled oak at the edge of the clearing, “see there? Old Trikru markings.” 

“I didn’t see them, I swear” Lysen’s voice, cracked with agony, drifted up to them.

Angus grunted and Clarke had a feeling once the kid was out of danger all of the Natblidas would get a lesson on watching where they were putting their feet. It would be funny if she didn’t know the child was hurt. 

One of the youngest warriors had wound a rope around his waist, and another tightened the other end around a tree trunk. Thus secured, the warrior quickly lowered himself into the hole, which was thankfully big enough to let him stand on a clear spot next to the injured Initiate. 

“The leg is run through!” He called upwards, finding Clarke’s gaze. They all knew she was a healer, and he was clearly waiting for her to tell him how to move the kid. 

“Is there a lot of blood?” She asked, fearing an affirmative answer.

“No. Not much at all.” 

Clarke sighed in relief, shoulders sagging forward. “No main artery was struck,” she explained when Angus raised an eyebrow at her. She chewed her lip pensively, then asked, “how deep do the poles run?” 

“You want to dig it up?” Angus replied, scratching his beard.

Clarke nodded. “It would be best to remove it at the Tower. Nyko has better tools there.” 

“Alright.” Angus agreed, then began to shout orders.  

The man that had climbed down the hole, knelt next to the child, digging around the pole with his bare hands. After a few minutes he screamed in triumph then, as another threw more ropes down, secured the Natblida around the waist. 

The clearing was a flurry of activity and, after a lot of cursing, the Initiate was recovered and laid gently onto a stretcher. Clarke ran her fingers along the child’s thigh to assess the damage and the youth groaned, swearing softly.

“Skrish.” 

“Easy there,” Clarke soothed, “I know it hurts but Heda wouldn’t be happy to hear you speak like that.”

The youth nodded weakly and she smiled softly, brushing a lock of unruly curls back from a sweaty brow. She took off her cloak and draped it over the Initiate to stave off the cold, then two warriors lifted the stretcher between them and they all hurried back towards Polis. Thanks to the spirits they were not that deep into the forest. 

Clarke spent the trek back at Lysen’s side, murmuring gently whenever the youth whimpered in pain. Her chest swelled with pride at the strength the Natblida displayed and the blonde decided that if someone so young could be so fearless, so could she. 

She was tired of running, tired of waking in the middle of the night bathed in cold sweat. She would face her demons, and once Lysen had been taken care of, she would take the stairs that led to the bowels of the Commander’s Tower and confront Titus.

She would keep the Flame alive for Lexa, no matter the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think?

**Author's Note:**

> To Jude81 my twin. Your friendship honors me.
> 
> To IllyriatheSmurf7 for feeding me so many angsty headcanons. Keep up the good work!


End file.
